‘Have you tried it? It’s very jolly, and good for the bones.’

When I admitted I hadn’t, she was adamant that I try it.

‘Oh, but you must! It used to be very popular with the older ladies. We had a marvellous instructor. Ronaldo from Colombia. I wonder if we could get him back?’

To which I replied that I’d look into it, though I can’t help wondering if it’s more Ronaldo from Colombia – rather than Zumba itself – that was very popular with the older ladies.

A couple of days ago one of my kitchen drawers started sticking and I also noticed a gap open up in a skirting board. And then last night the light switch in the bathroom stopped working. So I text Ben and he says he’ll try to come over for a couple of hours the next day, ‘to do some snagging’.

Snagging? What’s snagging?

I pretend I know what he’s talking about, then look it up, whereupon Google tells me it’s ‘the process of checking a new building for minor faults that need to be rectified. It is typically something damaged or broken.’

Which makes me realize that, according to that definition, I’ve spent most of my adult life ‘snagging’ my own self.

‘So, how’s it going?’

At lunchtime the next day I open the door to find Ben on my doorstep, his giant toolbag slung over his shoulder. For some reason I’d been expecting him after work and was therefore planning to change out of my work-from-homewear. Gone are the days of the smart work suits that I used to wear teaching; now it’s a shapeless T-shirt, no bra and a pair of old jeans that I’ve cut down into baggy shorts, and which are probably the most unflattering things known to mankind.

‘Good.’ I smile self-consciously, then remember I haven’t yet cleaned my teeth. ‘Oh, hi, Stanley.’

Emerging from behind his dad’s large frame, Stanley looks up at me, his face serious.

‘Where’s Harry?’

‘Pleased to see you too,’ I smile, exchanging a look with Ben.

‘Do you mind? With it being the school holidays, it’s a bit tricky with childcare . . .’

‘No, of course not,’ I say, ushering them both in and closing the door. I check myself in the mirror and quickly try to do something with my hair. It’s only Ben, but still, I’d rather not resemble a dandelion clock. ‘Though I’m afraid Harry’s not here at the moment.’

‘Has he gone swimming?’ asks Stanley.

‘Swimming?’

As we head into the kitchen, Ben puts down his toolbag while Stanley clambers onto a bar stool.

‘We just passed a few of Stanley’s old classmates heading to the river,’ explains Ben, looking up from inspecting the kitchen drawers. By his pained expression, it’s obvious Stanley wasn’t invited.

‘No, he’s gone for a walk with Valentine, but he should be back soon.’

Stanley stops spinning himself on the bar stool. He looks disappointed.

‘You know, last time I went swimming the river was freezing,’ I confide, pulling a face.