And as we all walk across the grass to find a space to play, I realize this connection with Dan might not be deep or meaningful. It could simply be about meeting new people who don’t remind me of the past; people who have their own troubles and stories, but are still able to enjoy a ball game on a sunny Wednesday afternoon.

Chapter 15: Dan

‘Stop hogging the ball, DL,’ Casey calls out. ‘It’s my turn!’

We’re sweating and Bear is panting after twenty minutes of this game. But I’d like to keep going till sundown.

‘Strictly speaking, it’s Bear’s turn,’ Gemma says. ‘You two don’t drop the ball enough to keep him happy.’ Her cheeks are pink from the game and her body flows with a grace I never expected.

My dad believed every man has a type, and my type is pure cliché: blonde, fairly tall, slim, big eyes, button nose, full lips with a Bardot pout. Angelica, basically. Her face looks best when she’s sulking, which is all she ever does.

But Gemma’s face is always changing: smiles and frowns and scowls and grins, and about a hundred other expressions that don’t even have names. She’s not conventionally beautiful, but her face gets prettier every time I look at it, which I guess has something to do with how I am liking her more and more.

How does she feel about me?

She’s stopped for a moment, to fill a water bowl for the dog, and he lollops over to her and drinks and drinks and drinks. He’s a cute little fella, and whatever his owner thinks, Bear has taken to me. Which must mean Dad was wrong about dogs being good judges of character.

Perhaps Gemma is scouting for a fling. I’m the ideal candidate, always happy to offer good sex, no strings attached, until she finds someone permanent.

In normal times I wouldn’t think twice. But these are not normal times, because Casey’s around.

‘I should get back to work,’ Gemma says once Bear’s finished, his beard darkened by the water.

‘Gemma’s an artist.’ Casey sounds proud of knowing someone with such a cool job.

‘A commercial illustrator. It’s not as glamorous as it sounds.’

‘We don’t have any artists or musicians in our village, so I think it’s very glamorous indeed.’ Casey picks up the lead. ‘Can I walk Bear back to your house?’

‘He’d like that.’

We keep throwing the ball as we walk. This feels so easy, like it was easy to say that stuff to her before. Despite my dad’s voice in my head telling me to shut up, Daz, you moron, I wanted to tell her the truth. Honesty felt . . . good.

‘That’s me over there,’ Gemma says, pointing up at the golden terrace of Bath-stone houses facing Observatory Road.

‘Wow,’ says Casey.

Wow! Gemma is rich. I didn’t see that coming, and she didn’t hint at it when she was telling me about her life. Shouldn’t ‘I live in a three-million-quid Clifton Village landmark’ have been near the top of her list?