Muswell Hill is a wealthy neighbourhood in North London. I love the place because it still feels a bit like a village with tree-lined streets and good local schools, but it’s a village where you practically need a mortgage to use the local shops and cafes.

We moved here when my mum was pregnant with me, and my dad inherited a house from an aunt. He and Aidan still live in the house which is just a few steps away. It’s an Edwardian semi with the original bay windows, and I know if I step into the hall, I’ll find a Minton tiled floor still scuffed with the marks made by my bicycle when I was a kid. The windows are dark tonight. I presume my dad is at still at the university where he’s a professor, and Aidan must be working a shift at the hospital where he manages a casualty ward.

Misha comes to stand next to me and looks at his own family home, which is a mirror image of mine. He sighs, and there’s something weary in the sound. He’s always like this when a family meeting is called. Probably because he feels a lot of responsibility for his mum and the girls since his dad died. I rub his arm, feeling how tight the muscles are.

“You okay?” I ask, concerned.

He scrubs his hand down his face. “Just mentally preparing myself for what’s coming.”

“They’re teenage girls,” I say consolingly. “How bad could it be?”

He looks at me incredulously. “I’m sorry, have you met them? The trouble could be anything on a scale between staging a sit-in outside the council buildings or robbing a mail train.”

“When did they become cowboys? Surely I should have been told about these developments?”

He snorts and shakes his head. Then he bounces on his toes for a few seconds, shaking out his arms like a boxer readying himself for a fight. It looks rather odd in a man wearing a three-piece suit. He finishes and nods. “Okay, I’m ready.” I go to walk towards his front door and he grabs my arm. “Wait,” he says. I look at him enquiringly. “Have you got any alcohol on you?”

I start to laugh. “No, of course I haven’t. Because I’m a librarian and not Colin Farrell.”

“More’s the pity.”

I step up to the door and ring the bell. “It’s your family, Misha. What could possibly be that bad?”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” he says darkly as we hear the sound of light footsteps and the click of the lock before the door pulls open.

Misha