Both of these were arguments that were hard for Ava to beat. Mum always said that Ava was way cleverer than she was, but she wasn’t above reminding Ava that she was ahead when it came to worldly wisdom, and especially when it came to knowing about men.

‘It’s your mum’s lucky day, then,’ the man said, and held the bouquet out to me.

I took it. Those roses were amazing. They were just perfect: velvety and crimson. And there were so many of them! As far as I knew, nobody had ever sent my mother flowers before.

‘Someone’s keen,’ the man said.

He went off whistling to his van, and I went upstairs with Mum’s flowers. I felt like I was carrying something very serious and important, like a bride’s train or the corner of a coffin, as if people were watching me. I was so flummoxed by the whole thing I nearly forgot to shut the main entrance behind me… which could have meant that everybody in the whole building ended up getting robbed, not just us.

Ava came into the hallway at the same time I did. She said, ‘What the—’ and reached out to take the flowers from me.

‘I think I’d better take care of these,’ she said.

‘Yeah, well, if you’re so keen to take over, maybe you should have opened the door in the first place.’

I let her have them, though, and followed her into the kitchen. I’d learned that it was usually best to let Ava get what she wanted: a token protest was about as much as I could manage.

She laid the flowers down on the draining-board and got up on a chair to start looking in the top shelf of the big cupboard, where we kept things we didn’t need very often, for a vase.

Our cupboards didn’t have all that much in them, but they still weren’t very tidy. Once in a while, when she came round to do the three-monthly inspection, Mrs Elliott would have a moan at Mum about it. This kind of thing worried Ava – she was paranoid that we’d get booted out and then wouldn’t be able to find another flat we could afford near her school. But Mum said she kept the place clean and paid the rent on time, so Mrs Elliott could do a lot worse, and anyway, people like Mrs Elliott didn’t know what to do with themselves if they couldn’t find something to criticise.

There was a card attached to the flowers. I flipped it over: Ava still had her head in the cupboard. The message was brief and printed, so at first glance it looked impersonal. It said, To Jenny. Here’s to the future. Love, Mark.

Future? Love? Mark?

Ava turned and said, ‘You are a little snoop, aren’t you?’ and I dropped the card as if I’d been stung.

I said, ‘Well, don’t you want to know who they’re from? It’s not like this is something that happens every day.’