‘That became more and more infrequent.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Heather, ‘if he hasn’t conquered his demons, you have me to watch out for you.’

‘No, not going back there. It wasn’t a particularly happy period of my life and not one I want to return to.’

Joe Wilding. I had been aged twenty-five when I arrived in London. Pete and Marcia had moved down the year before, got a ground-floor flat in Crouch End, and Marcia had sent for me. ‘You’ll love it here, pack your bags, you have to come,’ she’d said. ‘It’s where everything is happening.’

I’d stayed in Manchester after college, not sure of my place or what I wanted to do, so when the call came from Marcia, I dutifully did as I was told. She and Pete delighted in spending their weekends driving me around – north, south, east, west London – so I could get to know the areas and decide where I wanted to live. I was wide-eyed with anticipation as I explored the streets lined with brightly lit shops, bustled my way through the crowds in the West End, learnt to manoeuvre through the busy traffic. I remembered vividly the first time I drove with Pete and Marcia along Hampstead High Street. It was dusk, the tall houses and artisan shops lit from within and casting a warm glow out onto the streets. As we turned right at the traffic lights and up the hill, I thought, This is where I want to be. The area, popular with artists, writers and actors, was well known for its bohemian atmosphere and when I came across the vast expanse of parkland nearby that was Hampstead Heath, I felt it couldn’t get any better.