‘Where’s this come from?’ murmurs Luke above Minnie’s head.

‘Dunno.’ I shrug. ‘I suppose because I mentioned making cupcakes with sprinkles, and she often makes cupcakes with Mum …’

‘Minnie, my love.’ Luke comes down on to the floor too, and sits Minnie on his knee. ‘Let’s look at Grana and say hello, shall we?’ He’s taken my phone from the carved chest, and summons up my photos. ‘Let’s see … there she is! Grana and Grandpa!’ He shows Minnie a picture of Mum and Dad dressed up for a Flamenco night at their bridge club. ‘And there’s Wilfie …’ He scrolls to another picture. ‘And Auntie Suze …’

At the sight of Suze’s cheerful face beaming out of my phone, I feel a tiny pang myself. The truth is, although I keep denying it to Luke, I am feeling a bit lonely here in LA. Everyone seems so far away, there aren’t any neighbours to speak of, and I don’t have a job …

‘Say, “Hello, Grana!”’ Luke is cajoling Minnie, and after a moment she gives a little wave at the phone, her tears gone. ‘And you know what, darling? It may seem a bit scary here to begin with. But soon we’ll know lots of people in Los Angeles.’ He taps the screen. ‘Soon this phone will be full of pictures of all our new friends. It’s always hard at first, but we’ll settle in, I’m sure we will.’

Is he talking to me or Minnie?

‘We’d better go.’ I smile gratefully at him. ‘Minnie has toys to play with and I have new friends to make.’

‘Attagirls.’ He hugs Minnie, then stands up to kiss me. ‘You knock ’em dead.’

Minnie’s pre-school is somewhere off Franklin Avenue, and although I’ve driven there before, I arrive a bit flustered. God, driving in LA is stressy. I haven’t got used to our rental car yet, at all. All the controls seem to be in weird places and I keep hooting the horn by mistake. And as for driving on the right-hand side, well, that’s just wrong. It’s unnatural. Plus, the roads in LA are far too big. They have too many lanes. London is far cosier. You know where you are.

At last I manage to park the car, which is a Chrysler and also far too big. Why couldn’t we have rented a Mini? I exhale, my heart still thumping, and turn to face Minnie, strapped into her car seat.

‘We’re here! Pre-school time! Are you excited, darling?’

‘Idiot American driver,’ replies Minnie equably.

I stare at her, aghast. Where did she get that from? I did not say that. Did I?

‘Minnie, don’t say that! That’s not a nice word. Mummy didn’t mean to say it. Mummy meant to say … lovely American cars!’

‘Idiot,’ says Minnie ignoring me. ‘Idiot American driver, Idiot American driver …’ She’s singing it to the tune of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’. ‘Idiot American dri-ver …’

I cannot arrive at our first day at LA pre-school with Minnie singing ‘Idiot American driver’.