‘Thanks again, Dom. You know, for inviting us. For having us.’

He sits forward on the edge of the chair, and his face gets all serious when he tells me how important it is to him that Lou and I feel comfortable here, for however long it might be. ‘Like it’s your own home. Both of you. OK?’

Dom reminds me of my Spanish teacher. Just the right balance of cool guy and smart guy, doesn’t treat you like you’re just some dumb kid, but you still know there’s an adult in the room. I’ve never even really had a burning ambition to be fluent in Spanish, I just always hated the thought of disappointing Mr Navarro.

‘Tu casa es mi casa, that kind of thing, you mean?’ I figure if I keep it light, I won’t risk too many questions. Plus, turns out Spanish is good for the nerves. Mine, anyhow. Pulls me up. Calms me down. Sometimes I can even kid myself I’m a full-time chica tranquila.

‘Exactly, Wolfie, that’s the one.’ Dom relaxes back into his chair and we listen to George banging drawers in his bedroom through the wall. I wonder how long it’ll be before he realises he’s missing out on something. I kind of hope it won’t be too long, and that’s quite a surprise.

Dom’s easy to talk to, though, and we chat about school, what subjects I like best, loose plans for the future, yada, yada. I want to say, oh, you know, facilitate world peace, slow global warming, Bob Dylan tribute act. Maybe in that order.

‘I’m not really sure yet. Something environmental maybe.’

I’ve already noticed the smart-arse in me backs right off when I’m around Dom. His calmness is almost contagious, which I guess would be something to aim for from the guy coming at you with a scalpel.

‘Danny’s a good guy, you know.’

Respect. The surgeon gets us from school to the elephant in the room without even nicking an artery. He looks into his mug like my uncle might be in there, bobbing for marshmallows, trying to prove what a good guy he is. And I never said he wasn’t, but let’s face it, Danny Mulberry wouldn’t feel like the adult in the room in a kindergarten finger-painting class.

‘I know he got off to a bit of a rocky start with you, but honestly, he means well. He doesn’t always drink that much, despite what George says, although lately . . . But he’s lovely, he’s just . . .’ Dom gives up on the bottom of the mug, and looks back at me and shrugs. ‘I don’t know, he’s just Danny.’

Just Danny. Well, Danny seems like kind of a lot from what I’ve seen, and also, I find it pretty interesting that when Dom said that, he sounded quite like my mother did when I’d given her an hour’s warning her long-lost brother was on his way over. As if Danny was someone people had to make excuses or exceptions for. Like he needed protecting, somehow. I smile and hope it’s the answer Dom’s looking for, because it’s all I’ve got.