“I don’t understand how he’s managed to lie about his age,” I put in. Corey’s got to be around the same age as my dad, but I’ve searched online and I can’t find anything to disprove the so-called “fiftieth birthday party.” “I mean, you can’t just invent an age these days. What about Google?”

“He probably started lying before Google was invented,” says Janice wisely. “Like Marjorie Willis, remember, Jane? She shaved a year off every other birthday.”

“Oh, that Marjorie!” exclaims Mum indignantly. “She turned thirty-four at least twice, if not three times. That’s the way to do it, love.” She turns to me. “Gradually and early.”

“Yes!” Janice nods. “Start now, Becky. You could lose a decade, easily.”

Should I do that? I hadn’t even thought about shaving years off my age. Anyway, surely the most sensible thing is to pretend to be older than you are? And then everyone says, Wow, you look amazing for ninety-three! when you’re only seventy—

My thoughts are interrupted by Luke beckoning to me. He’s standing by the window and has rather an odd expression.

“Hi,” I say as I join him. “What’s up?” Without answering, he hands me his phone.

“Now, look, Becky,” says Dad into my ear, with no preamble. “What’s all this nonsense about Mum flying out to L.A.?”

It’s Dad’s voice. It’s my dad. He’s alive. I think I might pass out, except I want to whoop as well.

“Dad!” I exclaim breathlessly. “Oh my God. Is that you?”

Tears have already sprung to my eyes. I hadn’t realized quite how worried I was. Or how guilty I felt. Or how many horrible images had been circling in my head.

“I’ve just received a very garbled message on my phone,” Dad says. “As I’ve said to Luke, I want you to put Mum off, all right? Tell her to stay in the UK.”

Is he kidding? Does he have any idea what we’ve been going through?

“But she’s already here! And so is Janice! Dad, we’re worried about you!” My words tumble out. “And we’re worried about Tarkie, and we’re worried about—”

“We’re all fine,” says Dad testily. “Please tell Mum not to fret. I’ll only be a few days.”

“But where are you? What are you doing?”

“It doesn’t matter,” responds Dad shortly. “It’s a small issue between friends, and it’ll take no time at all to sort out, I’m sure. Try to amuse your mother in the meantime.”

“But we’re following you!”

“Well, please don’t follow me!” Dad sounds really quite angry. “This is ridiculous! Can a man not deal with a small private matter without being trailed?”

“But you didn’t even tell Mum what you were doing! You just disappeared!”

“I left you a note,” says Dad impatiently. “You knew I was safe. Shouldn’t that have been enough?”

“Dad, you need to speak to her, right now. I’ll pass you over—”

“No.” Dad cuts me off. “Becky, I’m trying to achieve an important task, and I have to focus on that. I can’t deal with your mother having hysterics at me for an hour.”