What kind of wanker writes his dream on his actual maths book? That’s stupid. My blue curtains are half closed, so I fling them open and then check my cupboard just in case there is a girl in there. Obviously there isn’t. I don’t have a girl in my life. Or a boy. I used to have all the offers. I fancied Jemima with every atom of my being, but she thought I was an idiot, plus she was in the year above and didn’t want to date down.

And there was Marco. I shake my head and send him out of it.

I’m downstairs before Dad and, for the first time ever, decide to make him a cup of tea and some toast. He beams when he sees it, then winces when he takes a sip. He knocks it back anyway, then makes himself a second cup and drinks it with evident relief as he eats the toast. At least I got that part right.

‘Have some yourself,’ he says, pushing a jammy half-slice towards me. I’m not at all hungry. I eat it anyway.

‘Love you, Dad,’ I say before he leaves for work. I didn’t mean to say it: the words jumped out before I could stop them. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually said anything like that to him before. I would have thought it babyish and lame. Today the words just spoke themselves.

Dad looks surprised. I see him waiting for me to say ‘… not’, but even I’m not that much of a twat. He doubles back to hug me.

‘Thank you, Jojo,’ he says, patting my back. ‘I love you too. Very much. So does your mother. So, in his way, does Angus. We don’t say that enough, do we?’

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say, and a flood of warmth sweeps through me. It’s like wetting yourself, but in a good way. ‘Have a good day at work.’

He smiles. ‘Don’t worry, Joseph. Your trip will be fine, I promise. You’ll have a whale of a time. We toured France once, back when I was in the little circus. We didn’t exactly play the … the … the Paris Aerodrome.’ I snort at his made-up venue. ‘We were in towns and villages around the south, doing shows outside village halls. It was magical. The French are fabulous people. You’ll have a … a très bien time too. Damn, wish I could think of the French for absolutely brilliant.’

He looks at me.

‘Génial?’ I hazard.

‘Yeah. France is génial. Anyway. I’d best go and wrangle some little demons. But I’ll be back to drive you up to school, OK?’

I nod. ‘See you later.’

I watch him leave. I’ll never see him again.