I couldn’t actually remember what it had been like when he lived with us, as he’d left when I was a baby. It seemed very odd that there had been a time when we’d shared a living space with him, toenail clippings and all, and though part of me was secretly very sad that he had gone, another part of me shared Mum’s relief.

Mum only joked about men and their annoying personal habits when she was in a good mood. At other times, she made it clear that what was wrong with men was serious. And every now and then she’d open up a little bit and I’d get a glimpse of what she was sheltering me from. One of those times was when she told me about her old schoolfriend Karen, a story which explained even better than the toenail clippings why we lived as we did.

Karen had two daughters who were about the same age as my big sister Ava and me, and like Mum, she was divorced. So far, so much like us. Except that Karen had got herself a boyfriend. And then, after a while, Karen found out that the boyfriend had been coming on to her older daughter, the one who was Ava’s age.

When Mum let this slip, her expression of disgust told me everything I needed to know: she wasn’t going to start seeing someone anytime soon. She resented it bitterly when people asked her about her love life. It annoyed her that they seemed to think she either ought to have a man in her life, or want one. Sometimes she imitated them to us as if their presumptions were totally ridiculous: ‘Do you have a boyfriend? Are you seeing anybody yet? As if I’d have the time for that!’

And I was glad. I hated the idea of some weirdo coming into our lives who might make a pass at Ava, or even at me. Anyway, Mum really didn’t have the time. She worked long hours, she looked after the flat and she had us. A man would have been an intrusion, and would have taken up time and energy she didn’t have to spare.

A man would change things, and toenail clippings in the bath would be the least of it. He might not mean to, he might even not be a weirdo, but a man would take over.

Luckily, Mum was reliable. She wasn’t like Dad, who’d turn up three hours late if at all. When she said something, she meant it.

I thought we were safe. I took her at her word when she said there was no way, no way on Earth, that she’d ever get herself a boyfriend. She was on the shelf, and that was where she was planning to stay – for her own sake as much as for ours.

And then a huge bunch of red roses arrived for her. And after that, everything was different.

When the roses turned up, I was reading in the kitchen – Ava always turfed me out of our bedroom after school, so she could do her homework. Everything was always a big deal with Ava and her homework. This was because Ava was a swot, which was something I had decided not to be.