There’s a reception desk with a man sitting behind it. He has a ponytail and is dressed all in black: his air is more dojo than yoga. The whole place smells of cinnamon, I think, and the floor is polished with rugs on it. I’m glad Mum’s been somewhere nice all this time.

‘Hey there!’ he says with such huge enthusiasm that I wonder whether he’s on drugs. ‘Can I help you?’

I plaster on my best smile. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I hope so. This might sound a bit weird, but my mum’s doing a course here this week. It’s her birthday so I’ve brought her some flowers and chocolates as a surprise from me and my brother.’

‘Ahhh,’ he says. ‘Well, aren’t you adorable?’ He checks the time. ‘They’re in studio two, and there’s a break coming up at half ten. You OK to wait? Who’s your mum? Hang on – Claire, right?’

It’s ten fifteen. ‘Yes!’

‘Gus or Joe?’

I am so happy that I want to dance. I do a little jig just because I can.

‘I’m Joe,’ I say.

‘She talks about you two all the time. It’s adorable. Have a seat. Want a glass of water?’

I shake my head. It’s nice not having to bother with that stuff.

The world’s slowest fifteen minutes crawl by, but I surf it on a wave of Mum talks about me all the time. Until yesterday I thought she’d forgotten us. Instead she’s boring people in Reading by going on about me and Gus. I guess there’s going to be a change in mood this evening when one of the boys she keeps banging on about disappears forever.

I look at the man, hoping that he’s not bored enough to check my mum’s date of birth on some list and realize that it’s not her birthday at all. He answers the phone and tells someone that the Saturday classes are usually full, but that they could turn up early and try their luck.

‘Not at school?’ he says, turning back to me.

‘Staff training day.’

After one million hours a door opens somewhere in the building, and the man says, ‘Here we go.’

I’m shaking from head to foot.

‘Claire!’ he yells. ‘Claire! You’re a dark horse. Thought you could get away without mentioning that it’s your birthday? You’ve got a special visitor.’

I hear the most familiar, perfect voice in the world saying, ‘Dan, what the hell are you –’ Then she comes round the corner and stops. ‘Joe!’

I am on my feet, and I run right into her and hug her. I feel her arms closing round me. I am ten, seven, two, a baby, a foetus. I am just a child who really, really needs his mum.