George is looking at me expectantly and I realise he’s waiting his turn.

‘You guys look amazing,’ I say.

‘We’re both Superman because I’ve got two Superman capes, I don’t know why. I like Spider-Man too, but he doesn’t have a cape. Aren’t they cool? You should get one.’ I really should, I think.

‘Maybe I will.’

George asks me what I’m doing, and I tell him about how I do my Spanish homework and how my method helps me remember more. Just the way my brain works, I say. Not that I’m recommending it, because as a rule, teachers seem to be obsessed with physical proof. He comes over and sits on the edge of the bed next to Gentleman, and when I say that they both tip their heads to exactly the same angle.

OK then, I think, the art of the conversation. A promise is a promise.

‘If you were allowed to choose one superpower to have, what would it be, George?’ He gives it some thought. A lot of it. Seriously, the look on his face is priceless and you’d think it was the most important question in the world.

‘OK, if I could have one superpower . . .’ he starts slowly, then hesitates to build the suspense. It works, and suddenly I’m totally interested in what a boy who has it all, and even two of some things, can possibly be in need of. ‘Well, what I’d choose is . . .’ I sit there impatiently, waiting for George to deliver his decision.

‘To have the power to give out superpowers! Then Dad and Danny and you and Lou could have one too!’ He slaps the duvet hard and Gentleman’s head pops up off his paws.

Jesucristo. Madre mía. This kid.

‘Is it still my turn in the conversation, Wolfie? Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure, you get two turns this time.’

‘OK, well, do you like your duvet cover? It’s my second-favourite, but I reckon it’s still cool because it’s got Woody and Buzz Lightyear. Danny says Woody is a proper diamond geezer even if he can’t go to infinity and beyond. Next time Dad does the wash we can swap if you like though, and you can have my favourite one. I don’t mind.’

The thing is, the art of conversation is easy with George. He makes me forget about all the stuff that’s crashing around inside my brain and think about the important things, like Sheriff Woody and how many balloons it’d take to fill up a car, and what’s the good, better, best chocolate bar in the world. Snickers for me, by the way; Mars for him. Then he says let’s do some drawing and he runs off to get his colouring pencils. He gives me first pick of pink, yellow or blue paper, which kind of messes with my only-child-not-great-at-sharing mind, and I have a go at sketching Gentleman’s side profile.

Dom comes up and says it’s nearly time to eat, but just in time he tells us that bloke from the Double is here and he’s scored himself a dinner invite as well. Straight away I can see I’m not fooling Dom with the story I come up with on the fly about an assignment that isn’t actually due for a week, but he doesn’t call me out. I haven’t got anything against Pete – poor guy’s up against it if you ask me – it’s just that I’m not really in the mood for the art of the conversation with a few too many more people than I’m used to.