‘You realize that all I did was organize your thoughts into a more logical plan?’

‘No! You did so much more!’

He shakes his head.

‘Nope, I promise you I did not. This is the glory of my job. I very, very rarely have to come up with any original ideas, all I have to do is organize them. Seriously, when we go back, have a look at your wall. All of those ideas are yours.’

I shake off the praise. ‘Well, either way, I enjoyed this morning. It was fun.’

‘I’m happy that you asked for help.’

We round the corner and finally reach the food market.

Our arms still looped together, I give him a quick squeeze, look at him and raise an eyebrow.

‘How about a hotdog?’

He smiles and shakes his head slightly, kinda like he’s waking up. ‘Fine. But this time you’re buying.’

CHAPTER 22

The rush of progress in love and at work is stopped in its tracks by a Sunday visit to my brother’s house, to play cool aunty for my niece’s fourth birthday party. I arrive when the party is in full swing and note that Olivia already has more friends than I do. I also note, with a hint of irony, the large ride-on unicorn that my mum appears to have given her. Hugo seems totally uninterested in it, lying peacefully nearby like butter wouldn’t melt. He’s a traitor.

My brother, Fred, has always been my mum’s favourite. She has more photos of him up in the house than she does of me and his ‘artwork’ will always have pride of place in the guest loo. Mine hangs in the coat cupboard above the wellies.

And she should be proud of him. I’m proud of him.

He has a pretty perfect set-up. He and his wife Anna make a great team. You can tell they’re a good match just by looking at them. The only tiny thing I’d find to criticize, if I really had to, is the way Anna views me as a project. Areas she focuses on include: my job, my side hustle, my clothes, my diet, my exercise regime and my love life. Coming from quite a direct family, her straightforward approach is very different from that taken by my mum and brother, who are instead totally happy to go along with the superficial details I provide.

I plan on avoiding Anna all day.

So here I am tangled up in rope, leading a charge of children through a supposedly age-appropriate assault course whilst wearing a tutu. It was a bit of a tight squeeze. I’m relieved there’s nobody here to impress.

On reflection, one foot stuck in a hole intended for a child’s foot, I’m not convinced this physical assault is better than Anna’s emotional assault would have been. It takes one more kick to persuade me I’ve had enough of the physical for today.

Finally free, I find a group of adults. ‘Goodness. That assault course is intense. Soft play isn’t that soft.’ They stare at me without laughing, and I know I am not quite adult enough for this particular group. I don’t disagree.