His absolute certainty, the complete and utter self-assuredness of his answer, rubbed me up entirely the wrong way. I did not like John the bartender.

He nodded. ‘In the words of a certain singing teapot beloved by young and old, it’s a tale as old as time.’ He wiped his hands on the white bar towel that hung over his shoulder. ‘I’ve seen it a thousand times, Rose.’

‘It’s Ros,’ I corrected.

He tossed the towel down on the bar as a passing waiter scooped up the tray of drinks and melted away into the crowd. He pushed his wavy, black hair away from his face and I strongly considered suggesting to Adrian’s mum that he really ought to be wearing a hairnet.

‘He’ll text and you’ll reply and we’ll be having this conversation all over again next week. Unfortunately it’s very predictable, Ros.’

‘I’m predictable, am I?’ I asked, the fingers of my left hand curling into my palm, fingernails stabbing at my flesh. What a cock.

‘The situation is predictable,’ he corrected. ‘When you work in a bar, you get used to hearing these stories. No need to take it so personally.’

‘Well, you’re wrong about one thing,’ I informed him as I placed my unfinished drink back on the bar.

‘Yeah? What’s that?’

‘We won’t be having this conversation again,’ I declared. ‘Or any conversation if I can help it.’

I turned and walked away before he could reply, marching across the garden. Who did he think he was? And what on Earth did Sumi and the others see in him? I searched for a friendly face that might bring down my blood pressure.

‘Rosalind, there you are.’

Instead, I found my parents.

‘I’m so glad we found you,’ Mum said, her cheeks pink and eyes bright. ‘We’ve something to tell you. Do you want to do it, Alan, or shall I?’

‘You tell her,’ Dad replied, kissing the back of her hand all the way up her arm like an about-to-be-fired 1980s waiter.

‘No, you do it,’ she insisted, all giddy. ‘It was your idea.’

It was still so strange to see my parents engaged in any kind of physical display of affection. I knew other people’s parents got touchy-feely on occasion but mine just didn’t, especially not my dad and especially not in public. But here he was, M&S sweater draped over his shoulders, socks pulled halfway up his calves and a spring in his step I’d never seen before. And, if I was being brutally honest, My Horny Dad didn’t feel like something that had been missing from my life.

‘Well, one of you needs to tell me,’ I cut in, fighting back the hordes of theories popping up in my mind. They’d started a swingers’ club. They were taking up naked tennis. They were starting a naked tennis swingers’ club. ‘Out with it?’