I follow Meredith down the hall. Somehow, I have to persuade her to help me.

Her kitchen is at least ten times bigger than our caravan. There are long, white stone bench tops and a wooden table where a dozen people could sit. Meredith lays a hand on the back of one of the beautiful curvy wooden chairs and says Pete made them and that she’s lucky to have them because they’re worth a fortune. Copper pans hang over the stove, and garlic and dried herbs are tied in bunches to a rack.

At the stove, Pete lifts the lid from a saucepan and there’s a waft of something wonderfully tomatoey and garlicky.

Pete tosses the salt and pepper shakers and a paper-wrapped block of cheese into the air, and starts juggling. He’s good. ‘Throw me the grater,’ he calls to Meredith.

He sings a cheery tune as the objects spin up near the ceiling. He’s so different to the other Peter Potts. This one’s damp hair sticks out at odd angles, and he wears stripy socks and an old jumper. The cheese slips from its paper wrapper and hits the floor with a thump. Pete makes a tooting noise like a trumpet and scoops up the cheese. ‘We have a five-second rule in this house, good folk.’ He’s using a ringmaster’s voice. ‘I declare this parmesan perfectly edible!’ I like this Pete Potts.

Meredith serves up three big bowls of ravioli and Pete grates cheese over each one. I bite into a cheesymelty pillow of pasta. My stomach gives a guilty lurch at the thought of Claudie coming out of the bakery with food for me, only to find me gone and her precious possessions abandoned on the footpath.

‘So, how was the magic biz today?’ Pete asks Meredith as he stabs a ravioli.

‘Bit frustrating. I had to sort out a mammoth delivery problem.’ She eats too quickly, and talks while she chews, just like my real mum. This mum-but-not-mum thing is so weird.

‘Hang on!’ I say. ‘What do you mean magic biz? I thought you hated magic.’

‘I own a chain of magic shops,’ she says. ‘I kind of fell into it when I first arrived in London. But it’s just …’ She glances at Pete. ‘Little magic. Tricks.’

Pete looks back and forth between us. He puts down his fork. ‘Okay, Meredith. What’s going on? Time to spill the beans, my friend.’

Meredith takes a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid the beans are rather complicated.’ She pauses. ‘Do you remember me talking – back in Australia – about parallel universes? Another version of your life that you would have lived if you’d made a different decision at some point … or if some particular thing hadn’t happened to you …’

He raises his eyebrows in what looks like amused doubt.