‘Hi!’ I say. ‘My name’s Joe. I’m doing a charity thing. Sorry to disturb you, but do you need any help with the garden? We’re collecting for the children’s hospice.’

She looks surprised, then smiles.

‘Of course!’ she says. ‘What a lovely thing to do. I’ve been neglecting the garden a bit since this little one arrived. If you don’t mind, could you just pull out the weeds around the daffs? Pile them up in the little garden bin in the corner. That would be perfect. Thank you so much!’

‘No problem at all,’ I say, and I don’t put my foot inside the door, which, on reflection, was a pretty aggressive move last time. I kneel in the garden instead and start pulling out the weeds. I feel a bit shabby about the children’s hospice part of this, but I know that if I did make a donation to them it would be imaginary.

It’s almost raining, as ever, but I don’t care. There are a few snowdrops and crocuses in the flower beds too, which I leave. I yank up everything else by the roots and hope that I’m not pulling out anything precious and rare. I dump it all in the compost bin in the corner.

After about an hour Anna comes out, carrying a tray, which she puts down on the doorstep.

‘Here you go,’ she says. ‘The baby’s asleep. I brought you a glass of squash and a biscuit. That’s not patronizing, is it? I hated tea when I was your age.’

I grin. ‘I’ll drink anything,’ I say truthfully. I’d drink a gallon of petrol and be fine. I could drink the Atlantic Ocean and not even need a wee.

She goes back in and fetches her cup of tea, then sits on the doorstep.

‘Is this a school thing?’ she says. ‘Because it’s a school day, isn’t it?’

‘Duke of Edinburgh’s,’ I say, and she nods. ‘I need this kind of distraction because my home life is kind of weird.’ I flash her my best version of an old-style Joe Simpson smile.

‘You poor thing,’ she says at once.

‘It’s OK,’ I say in my brave voice. ‘I mean, nothing dreadful. My mum moved away to India and I miss her. That’s all.’

‘Oh, that must be terribly difficult,’ she says. She is, as Ariel says, lovely. And she’s exactly like Ariel. This is what Ariel will be like when she’s twenty-six. We talk for a while and I manage not to say anything stupid. She drains her tea and goes back indoors. I finish the weeding and am pleased with my work. My hands are filthy, but I just lick the soil off them.