He helps himself to another blini. “I’ve always loved it. There’s nothing like the crackle when you put the needle down. The sound isn’t so good, but the music seems more real somehow. I used to spend hours poring over the artwork on the albums.”

“Me too,” I say fervently.

“Put something on,” he says. “The records are in the cabinet over there.”

I open the door of the long cupboard and whistle at the shelves of records. “You weren’t kidding.”

“I rarely do.” I roll my eyes, and he grins. “Pick something.”

I run my fingers along the shelves, tracing the album spines. Then I grin and draw one out.

He groans. “All of that music, and that’s what you pick.”

“I can’t believe you’ve got Now That’s What I Call Music.”

“It was one of the first albums I ever bought.”

“I think mine was U2’s The Joshua Tree.”

His face is alive with interest, and it’s obvious that he’s a music buff. “That was a great album. I used to haunt a record shop on the Kings Road every Saturday. As soon as I received my allowance, I spent most of it in there immediately.”

“Oh my God. Flynn’s?” He nods, and I smile. “Me too. We were probably there at the same time.”

“I’m sure I was far too cool to spend time with you, Laurie.”

“I doubt it. I was a very attractive teenager.”

“Rubbish. I bet you had a mullet.”

“Didn’t everyone?”

He shakes his head. “Not me.”

I put the record on the deck, flicking a switch until the stylus lowers, and the sound of Heaven 17’s “Temptation” comes through the speakers.

“What number Now Music are they on now?” I say, looking at the back of the album cover.

“Probably Now That’s What I Call Music Five Billion,” he says gloomily.

I wander over to sit next to him. “The kids call it Now Music. Not that mouthful. You’re not down with them.”

“If I got down, I’d never get back up again. My knee tends to lock.”

“Yesterday, one of my nieces referred to the nineties as ‘the old days’.”

He groans. “I think I have reached the age where everything I am is retro.”

I laugh and take the blini he hands me. “What’s this for?”

“I want you to paint me a picture with it.”

I laugh, but he nods at the food. “Eat it,” he says. “You ate nothing at the dinner.”

“You noticed?”

He says nothing and just looks at me, so I cram it into my mouth.

When I’ve finished it, I show him my hands. “Look, Mum. All gone.”

“If I were your mother, Laurie, I would probably be on heavy doses of Valium.”

“If you were my mother, I’d probably join you.”