The view from the terrace was a beauty. All of London, new and old, sparkling fresh, straight out of the shower and shining just for me. Along the riverbank, different-coloured umbrellas danced around each other, streaming past the Golden Hinde, the Globe, all the way down to the Tate Modern. Across the Thames, St Paul’s was almost glowing in the sun, thankful for its long-awaited bath. On my right, I saw the Tower of London battling for attention with The Shard. Centuries-old stone, competing with a decade’s worth of glass and steel, past versus progress, separated by a river and somehow managing to co-exist.

‘Oh, it’s you.’

I heard the door open behind me and turned to see John stepping out onto the terrace. I smiled and turned back to my city.

‘I was on my way to give someone a bollocking but, since it’s you, I’ll let you off. I haven’t got the permits to open this up yet, I don’t want anyone falling to their death,’ he said, leaning against the low railing beside me. ‘Ros, you’re wet through. Here.’

He shrugged off his warm jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders like a blanket.

‘I don’t want to ruin it,’ I protested, even as I pulled it around myself. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until someone offered me a chance to get warm.

John waved away my concern and moved to stand beside me, resting his forearms on the railing to gaze out over London.

‘I just met your mum,’ he said. ‘She’s really lovely.’

‘Yeah,’ I nodded, smiling warmly. ‘She is. I’m lucky.’

‘She reminded me a lot of my mum …’ he added before letting the thought trail away. ‘What are you doing out here? I thought I saw you leaving.’

‘I went out to make a call, got wet, came back,’ I explained. ‘I came out here to think.’

‘About?’

I inhaled, wondering how much to share. It had been easy to talk to him before, when he was the married, slightly annoying bartender. But now he was someone completely different and I wasn’t sure how but the rules had changed.

‘I was thinking how annoyed the Tower of London must be,’ I said, pointing down at the old fortress. ‘You know, you’re just there, minding your own business for a thousand years, doing everything that’s asked of you, and then someone comes and builds a giant bloody skyscraper right across the road. I’d be furious.’

‘I hate The Shard,’ John said, turning his nose up at the glass colossus to our right. ‘It’s just there, isn’t it? Everything around here has a reason to exist, the market, the theatre, the bridges, the tower. And then that’s just there to be there. They could so they did. I hate it.’