That said, she almost bottled out of their meeting when she emerged from Highbury and Islington Tube station and made the short walk towards Barney’s Café. It seemed insane, all of a sudden, that she was behaving in such a cloak-and-dagger manner, being so underhand. She was jeopardizing her entire relationship here – and not just with Craig, because with Craig came Fergus. She was totally laying herself on the line, and for what? Because a half-sister she’d never actually met made a passing remark about her being gutsy? Was she really that impressionable that another person’s opinion could cause her to act with such recklessness?

Oh Lord. Put it that way, and she wanted to screech to a halt right there on the pavement, put her hands up and say Whoa! Just a minute. What the hell?

But some dogged instinct drove her on nonetheless, step after step, until she was pushing open the door of the café and gazing around, adrenalin racing through her veins. Fight or flight, fight or flight . . . Wait. Julia wasn’t even there. She let out her breath in anticlimax and made her way over to the counter.

The café was moody, with dark-painted walls and framed posters of classic album covers, but there was a cosy feel about the place too, due to the soft, bashed-up old sofas and mismatched chairs. The man behind the counter wore dungarees and cool glasses and was reading The Collected Plays of Brecht while perched on a three-legged stool. He seemed irritated to be interrupted by Frankie ordering an Earl Grey tea.

She retreated to a dingy corner with her mug, feeling increasingly agitated with every minute that ticked by. Five past twelve. Ten past twelve. Was Julia even going to show, after all this? Would it be just another of her mind-games? But then at quarter-past twelve, in she sauntered at last. True to form, she ordered a macchiato at the counter and said, ‘She’s paying’, with a dismissive jerk of the thumb at Frankie. Which was one way to call the shots, Frankie thought wryly, getting out her purse.

‘So, this is a lovely surprise,’ Julia drawled, sitting down at Frankie’s table and somehow managing to make her words sound as if she meant the complete opposite. She was wearing really dark burgundy lipstick and had swept her curly hair back into an impressively tight bun, with a long black pinafore, white short-sleeved stretchy top and a pair of gold trainers to complete the look. ‘Secret meetings, eh? Well, well, well. Interesting relationship dynamic you and my ex have got going on there, then. What else are you up to that he doesn’t know about?’

Frankie ignored the jibe. ‘I just wanted to see you, woman-to-woman,’ she began, trying to keep her cool. ‘And I guess what I want more than anything is to assure you that, growing up, Fergus has had nothing but love.’