‘Trust me to do what?’

She laughs again and reaches over to give me the briefest flirty but promising kiss. ‘Let me check with my cousin that you’re not too dangerous. If you pass the test, I may be back.’

‘Tell her one of the other guests named his baby after me. Doesn’t get much more respectable than that.’

Tegan agrees that the harbour is much more what she hoped Bristol might be like: we sit out on the terrace, and it’s hard to imagine a sexier view.

‘I mean, it’s not a patch on Manchester, but this penthouse is impressive. How much did this set you back, moneybags?’

‘It’s not even mine. I’m borrowing it from a mate.’

‘If you say so. He must be a very generous mate. Yeah. I can’t afford to buy anything, either – I’m going to have to get help from the Bank of Mum and Dad.’

‘Lucky you. I never even knew my mum, and I wish I’d never known my dad at all.’

What made me say that? Such a downer. I must be more drunk than I realize.

Tegan doesn’t respond for a minute. ‘Where’s your loo?’

When she comes back she’s all shiny and perky and I suspect she’s done a line or two. Isn’t it etiquette to offer to share? Not that I would have said yes.

She’s talking faster about her plans to start her own consultancy business, but I’ve already forgotten what she consults in. Abruptly she realizes I haven’t spoken for at least ten minutes, so she asks me what I do, and when I tell her she’s even more excited, pumping me for festival stories – gossipy ones about artists she’s heard of that she’ll share with her mates back home.

Except I want to tell her my stories instead. The one about the lonely kid who started sneaking into gigs because the music drowned out the feelings of never belonging. Or the one about meeting a girl who was even lonelier than me and getting her pregnant during a storm at the rainiest Glastonbury in history . . .

When did I turn into a moody old bastard?

I change the music to my party playlist, upbeat sounds to shake myself out of my weird mood. Fatboy Slim comes on and that works, because I need to be RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

And we’re dancing and I’m trying to think myself back into this moment, this amazing flat and this smart woman, and the escape we’re both after.

Tegan pulls away, dances on her own.

‘You’re married, aren’t you? No way you live here on your own.’

‘Not married.’

‘Kids then?’ Tegan has this sly look, as though she’s got one over on me.

Did she sneak into Casey’s room when she went to the bathroom? The thought of her gawping at my daughter’s things makes me nauseous.

‘It doesn’t bother me. I’ve got a boyfriend at home: on–off, you know the score. What happens in Bristol stays in Bristol.’