‘Oh, right,’ I say guiltily. ‘OK. I’ll change it. One of them. All of them.’

(I’m so not going to change anything. Four numbers is hard enough to remember as it is.)

‘Welcome, Graham.’ Luke is shaking Dad’s hand. ‘Would you like some breakfast? You’ll be staying with us, of course.’

‘If that’s all right.’

‘Dad, where’ve you been?’ I chime in impatiently. ‘What’s going on? Why are you in LA?’

There’s silence in the kitchen. Even Jeff and Mitchell look interested.

Dad gives me a guarded smile. ‘I just have some business to take care of. That’s all. I stayed at a hotel last night, and here I am.’

‘It’s Brent Lewis, isn’t it? Dad, what’s the mystery?’

‘No mystery,’ says Dad. ‘Simply …’ He hesitates. ‘Something I have to put right. Might I make myself a cup of tea?’ He reaches for the kettle and peers at it, puzzled. ‘Does this go on the stove?’

‘That’s how they do it in America,’ I explain. ‘They don’t understand electric kettles. But then, they don’t really understand tea, either. Here, I’ll do it.’ I fill the kettle with water, plonk it on the hob, then immediately text Mum: He’s here!!!

Dad has sat down at the table with Minnie on his lap, and is playing Incy Wincy Spider with her. Soon all the other children are clustering around too, and he doesn’t even notice me texting. A minute or two later, my phone rings, and it’s Mum.

‘Where is he?’ she demands shrilly. ‘What’s he doing? Does he know how worried I’ve been?’

‘I’m sure he does,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I’m sure he’s really sorry. There’ll be a brilliant explanation, I know it.’ Dad glances up, his expression blank, and I make vigorous hand gestures which are supposed to mean ‘It’s Mum!’

‘Well, put me on!’

‘Er, Dad,’ I say. ‘It’s Mum. She wants to talk to you.’ I hold out the phone gingerly and take a step backwards.

‘Jane,’ says Dad, as he takes the phone. ‘Now, Jane. Jane, listen. Jane.’

I can hear Mum’s tinny voice coming through the phone in a constant, high-pitched stream. Dad clearly can’t get a word in.

Suze raises her eyebrows at me and I shrug back helplessly. I’ve never felt at quite such a loss.

‘You mustn’t concern yourself,’ Dad is saying. ‘I’ve told you, it’s simply an issue with a couple of old friends.’ He pours boiling water into the teapot. ‘No, I’m not coming home on the next flight! I must do this.’ He sounds suddenly resolute.

I look questioningly at Luke, who also shrugs. This is driving me mad.

‘She wants to talk to you, darling,’ says Dad, handing the phone back to me. He seems quite unruffled by Mum’s tirade.

‘Why won’t he tell me what he’s doing?’ Mum’s voice blasts in my ear. ‘He keeps saying he’s got “something to sort out” with that Brent Lewis. I’ve Googled him, you know. Can’t find anything. You said he lives in a trailer. Did you actually meet him?’