‘So what do you want to know?’ Derek’s question breaks the silence – that and the banging of china against china as he spoons egg fried rice into a bowl decorated with burgundy willow trees. Mum watches us, chewing on noodles and her usual Kung Po Chicken.

‘About what?’ I ask.

‘About Me. My life. My intentions—’

‘Derek!’ Mum practically chokes on a prawn ball. She reaches for her wine before remembering she’d rejected a top-up.

‘What? The lad’s sat there wondering what I’m all about. And who can blame him. I’m just being upfront.’ He beats me to the top-up this time, filling her glass with the lukewarm house white.

She takes a sip. ‘You don’t have to be upfront, Derek. Rhys can wonder all he likes. This is not going to turn into the Spanish Inquisition.’

‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘We’re on the wrong continent for one thing.’ He motions to our Chinese-themed surroundings and I break into a smile.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘It’s none of my business, Derek.’

‘True. It’s not. But I like your mum. And I think she likes me. And whilst we are in no hurry, I do enjoy spending time in her company and I happen to be aware that you are not entirely comfortable with this. See, I’m not in the habit of backing away from the opportunity to make sure someone has the facts before they judge.’

I stare at him, not sure if I admire his Yorkshire bravado or if I’m pissed off with the confrontation. But he isn’t being confrontational. He’s not stood before me pruning peacock feathers and puffing up his chest, but he’s not afraid to tackle the elephant in the room.

‘I was married at eighteen to my childhood sweetheart, Marilyn,’ he begins. ‘We met at a dance in town. She was from a wealthy family and I was poor. Her bit of rough, she used to say.’ I grimace, and occupy myself by dipping into Mum’s dish to try her food. ‘We were very happily married for thirty-two years. Two children: Jane and Peter. I’ve four grandchildren: Amy, Clare, Jonathan and Matilda. I live up Greenhill, by the shops. I bought a flat there when Marilyn passed because the kids had left home and I didn’t fancy staying in our family house on me own. I was a manager down the steelworks. Pushed paper mostly, though I don’t mind getting me hands mucky. I like walking, music, reading, crosswords… and I like your mum.’ I notice her smile at this; she looks younger. ‘I think you do a great job of looking after her.’ He reaches out and pats her hand, letting it rest there for a moment before going back to his food. ‘And I feel sorry for your loss. Life can be shit.’ He takes a sip of his drink. ‘So that’s me,’ he says with finality, loading his bowl up with his second round and looking at me expectantly.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Well, that pretty much clears that up then.’