I mused on that little gem of self-reflection as I waited for the kettle to boil and thought how strange it was to have the mental clarity to even consider such things, when sometimes at that time of night I was hitting my fourth pint and heading for the opposite of mental clarity. I was pondering the fact that I hadn’t even been missing the pub – or the pints, for that matter – when I glanced through the half-open door up to Wolfie’s bedroom window. It was almost in darkness except for a faint flickering blue glow, like she was watching something on a digital screen. I’d have bet it wasn’t to do with any assignment, except that Lou had told us at dinner that Wolfie was an A-star student in virtually every subject. The information had seemed at odds with the girl I clearly didn’t know at all, but by the look on George’s face he, for one, appreciated the value of a good education, and I think he fell a little bit more in love with her right in front of me.

I’d definitely made progress with Wolfie since I’d taken over the dressing of Lou’s leg, but even though Dom and George and even Gentleman had obviously passed whatever test she had going on, I felt like the jury was still out on the mad-as-a-box-of-frogs uncle masquerading as a spiritual guru. And when I put it like that, who could blame her? It had crossed my mind more than once, particularly in this past week, that she might be regretting putting this whole shebang in motion. Might have wished she’d never picked up that issue of the Double and seen that picture, and then she’d still be in Tottenham with Lou, snuggled up in their little shoebox, not rattling around in a luxury mansion in Belsize Park.

I flicked on the little bedside lamp I’d picked up at Tesco on a whim when I’d popped in for milk, and when I turned off the bare overhead bulb, now that a lot of the junk had been moved out, or at least rearranged neatly, the shed looked like a cosy little cave. I sat down on the edge of the bed to take off my trainers and noticed the faint red splatters of paint on the bottom of my jeans. Had that really only been three weeks ago? Cats and kings and all that happened next? It seemed like a lifetime.

I placed my trainers neatly in their new permanent spot by the door and thought back to that three-week lifetime ago. Before Ray got his money shot and everything about my unpredictable, unambitious, in-denial life had changed. Back when my shoes had lived wherever they fell in a drunken heap, which was often still attached to my feet. When my idea of the perfect evening was a date with a fruit machine at the Lamb and Flag, and a couple of kebabs to finish off. I compared it to the very tasty chicken cacciatore I’d just enjoyed around a French provincial kitchen table, and a pretty perfect evening for many different reasons, and thought, Well, isn’t that something to make you go, hmmm.