Mitch and I spend the evening with Evelyn. Mitch orders a takeout from the Indian restaurant and drives down to the High Street to pick it up. En route, he stops for a pint at The Feathers to sample Budleigh on a Saturday night. Back with Rogan Josh, chicken jalfrezi, and a delicious prawn biryani, he’s evidently bewildered by the rules that govern the skittles alley. Evelyn does her best to help him out, but it’s quickly evident that Mitch isn’t as pubby as I once thought. But there’s also good news. On the way back, though he can’t be absolutely sure, he thinks he may have seen a black man. This, he says, makes him feel much more at home.

Over dinner, we carefully avoid any mention of Christianne. I share the news about Malo’s coming betrothal, fed up that he hasn’t bothered to tell me, but Evelyn tells me not to worry. At worst, it’s simply an oversight. At best, he’s saving it for a surprise. Either way, we all agree that it’s the best possible news. Clemmie has been through a great deal with my son, and a lot of it would have killed the relationship stone dead with any other woman, so the fact that she’s going to be part of our little family fills me with something I can only describe as joy. Mitch excuses himself when we’ve finished the curry and goes upstairs to make a few notes. I share a pot of coffee with Evelyn, and then tell her I can wait no longer.

‘What for, my lovely?’

‘I have to phone him. Just to make sure Sylvester’s not making it up.’

She smiles and wishes me good luck. Upstairs, I have the bigger of the two spare bedrooms. For whatever reason, I’ve always had a talent to move around very quietly, even as a kid. My mother, not altogether in jest, used to call me le fantôme, the ghost. Now, at the top of the stairs, I can’t help pausing outside Mitch’s door. He’s on the phone, I’m guessing to a contact on some paper or other.