Gentleman’s leaning politely against my leg now, waiting to escort me in, and he looks up when I hesitate. What’s the hold-up, kid? There’s another burst of laughter and he’s probably regretting having chosen Ray and me over whatever’s going on in there. I push the door, and he sidles in front of me and trots off towards the kitchen. Just before he gets there, he stops, turns around and waits. He’s a bit like George – getting harder to resist every day.

I stand in the hallway and watch them for a minute through the gap between the door and the frame with my hand resting on Gentleman’s warm head. He looks up at me again like, I’m not going to grass you up, but let’s get this show on the road. They’re all in there. Dom’s crouching down in front of the fridge rummaging in the crisper for something, and George is sitting at the kitchen table next to Lou. Their heads are bent very close together and he’s showing her something in one of his school books. She’s perched sideways on a chair with her cast balancing on the little stool and the other leg resting easily, foot flat to the floor. It’s got a bright white new bandage on, but it’s no longer criss-crossed all the way up; it only covers the mid-section of her calf and I think, When did that happen?

Danny’s leaning against the sink with a cuppa – definitely tea, because it’s after 10 a.m. and the guy has rules. He’s wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and it’s the first time I’ve seen the small tattoo on the top of his arm. I can’t make out what it is, and I suddenly remember the time Lou and I had our first and only real stand-up fight, when I was about eleven and I genuinely couldn’t believe she wouldn’t consider my request to get a tattoo. We didn’t talk for a whole day, then that night she came into my room where I was lying with my face to the wall, still white-hot furious. She put her hand on the back of my head and said, ‘Wolfie, don’t go to sleep angry because things can happen.’ Then she told my stubborn back that she loved me madly. Quite madly, is what she said, and I missed her face so much I turned around, and that was that for the argument. But not the tattoo. It’s happening one day.

I watch Lou’s face through the gap, talking and laughing with George, glancing over every now and again to Dom or Danny, smiling at their banter. She looks happy. She’s happy, I think, and it’s nothing to do with me.

Imagine if I’ve been slogging away for years and it turned out all she needed was a change of scenery. Imagine that. I lift my hand from Gentleman’s head and enough is enough. He takes off from a standing start and skids into the kitchen. Game on.