‘I haff delivery,’ I tell her in my best accent. ‘Needs sigi-nature from Luke Mil-nay.’ I deliberately mispronounce it to emphasise my unfamiliarity with the English language.

She looks momentarily confused before her face clears. ‘I’m sorry. Did you mean Luke Milne?’

I tilt the box so she can read the address label and she smiles.

‘I’m sorry, dear, but Luke isn’t here. Can I sign for the package? I’m his mother.’

All my careful preparation fades to nothing as I stare at her in horror. Far from being mentally and physically frail as Luke described, this woman appears on the outside to be in excellent shape, without any sign of the confusion he led me to believe had pretty much robbed her of all her faculties. I know I should have prepared for this eventuality, but I honestly never thought it would come to pass.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ she asks, her face now concerned. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do you need a glass of water or something? I know how hard these companies work you. You’ve probably been on the road since some godforsaken hour.’

‘I…’ I begin, but the words just dry up. I have no idea what to say, and the urge to just run is greater than ever. Forcing myself to remain in character and stick to the script I practised with Mike, I finally manage to speak. ‘Package needs to be signed for by Luke Mil-nay,’ I tell her again, pulling out the ‘sorry you were out’ card and starting to fill it in. ‘I cannot deliver if he does not sign. I can try again tomorrow if he will be here.’ I won’t, of course, but this is the line we rehearsed.

‘I can’t tell you when he’ll be here next, I’m afraid,’ the woman says ruefully. ‘He drops by occasionally, but he works shifts and his wife’s expecting a baby, so there isn’t a lot of space for me at the moment. I can’t imagine why he’s addressing parcels to himself here, unless it’s a surprise for her, I suppose.’

His wife? This piece of information hits me like a punch to the solar plexus and I’m unable to stop myself from staring at her with my mouth open, temporarily unable to breathe. I can feel my legs turning to jelly beneath me and I grab the doorjamb for support.

‘Goodness me!’ Luke’s mum exclaims. ‘You really are unwell, you poor thing. Let me help you inside, and we’ll sit you on the sofa with a glass of water while I call the ambulance.’

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ I insist, all pretence at an accent gone as I struggle to regain my balance. Shit, she’s looking at me suspiciously now.