‘God,’ Magda says over a traditional Bavarian breakfast of Weisswurst, Brezel and Bier – literally, white sausage, pretzels and beer. ‘I mean, Duke seems like a cool, well-adjusted guy but can you imagine your newly sober mother turning up out of the blue when you’re essentially at work? And not to make myself a main character in this when I am, at most, a peripheral observer, but isn’t it crazy that I met her at the airport?’

Evie shakes her head. ‘It’s stuff like that that makes me believe in fate,’ she says. ‘We were at that restaurant because she told you about it, to be fair. But what were the chances, even then?’

‘Infinitesimal,’ agrees Magda. ‘I mean. I wonder what her plan was – was she simply going to ask around about where the nearest film set was and … wait?’

Evie shrugs, dipping her pretzel into some hot mustard. She isn’t hungover, but having been up late with Duke and then waking so early, the sleep deprivation makes her feel that way. In fact, she’s had less sleep on this German trip than she even did at college. She’s too old for this. There’s not enough eye cream in the world.

‘That’s what the fans do, I think,’ Evie says. ‘Get wind of what city we’re in, share the info online, on blogs or whatever, and then hang around waiting to get glimpses of everyone.’

‘Another world.’ Magda sighs. ‘Although, if I was born in the Seventies, I totally would have been a music groupie. Trying to sleep with Bowie or the Beatles or whoever, following them around from gig to gig.’

‘If you’d have been a teenager in the Seventies,’ Evie jokes, ‘you wouldn’t have made it to the Eighties.’

Magda shrugs. ‘I’d have had a great time, at least.’ She smiles. Then, changing the subject, she says, ‘And, hey. Just checking in to see how Duke’s alcoholic parent showing up like this makes you feel about your dad? We don’t have to talk about it, but I have to ask. You okay?’

Evie considers it. She has been thinking about her dad a lot, considering she’s back in his world – not to mention the newspaper identifying him as her father. Any hope she had that he’d reach out is dashed, if it was even there. But still. She can’t lie. He’s occupied more of her thoughts than usual.

‘I suppose I’ve been thinking of him a bit, yeah,’ Evie admits. ‘More from, like, an empathetic point of view. Like what would I do if my dad showed up like Duke’s mom has.’

‘And?’ Magda pushes.