When I let myself into the flat, I am surprised to see Ryan sitting in my chair talking to Dad.

‘Hello, Ryan,’ I say, failing to keep that surprise from my voice.

‘Hi, Prue.’ Ryan has grown a little bum-fluff moustache since I last saw him. He has an open file on his lap and is holding a biro. Taking notes.

‘You answered the door?’ I ask Dad.

‘Yes.’

‘Not knowing who it was?’

‘Yes,’ he says.

He’s saying ‘yes’ again, I think. He’s opening the door to himself and other people. I’ve said ‘yes’ too, though, haven’t I? I’ve said yes to new shoes and Salvi. I can take opportunities. The ones that I want to.

I go and put my handbag on the console table by the window. I start to unpack my bags. I want to describe my purchase to Dad. Talk about my new shoes. Talk about what it was like being in the West End …

Dad coughs. ‘If you don’t mind, we’re rather busy here. Ryan’s come for a bit more information on Leslie Green.’

‘Wow, OK. Well, great.’ I collect my bags up again. ‘Kemp didn’t come this time?’

‘He knocked with me,’ says Ryan. ‘Now he’s gone to a disused print works.’

‘Of course he has.’

‘Your dad makes amazing pasta.’ He gestures at an empty plate to the right of him.

‘I know. Doesn’t he just?’

Dad coughs again.

‘Well, have fun!’ I say. I know when I’m not wanted. Ryan sits in my chair like Goldilocks and I am a grumpy bear – baby bear, probably – exiled to my bedroom by my own father. But, as I throw my bags on my bed and close the door, I am smiling. Dad has opened the door wide. Dad has let someone in. Dad has played music and now he is sitting with Ryan and talking about architecture. He’s come a long way.

CHAPTER 29

‘You look lovely.’

‘Thank you.’

It’s nowhere near two o’clock. It’s Sunday. I’ve already got the dress on and the man seeing me in all its buttercup, Flamenco glory is not Salvi but Kemp, who is at the door brandishing three Blondie tickets in his hand. I’ve been ready since eleven. My make-up is done. I’ve just been waiting for the clock to tick round.

‘Three tickets,’ Kemp says, holding them out for me to take. ‘You off out again? You and Vince?’

‘No. Well, I’m going out. Not Dad. I’m going out for lunch.’

‘Oh, anywhere nice?’

‘The Monastery, at the Embankment?’

‘Yes, I know it, interesting place.’

‘Don’t tell me, you’ve been burrowing around underneath it, sniffing at old habits or something.’

‘Old habits die hard … Ha, no. Not yet, at any rate. Hot date?’ he asks, eyebrows slightly raised.

‘Well, it’s a date,’ I say. ‘The temperature is yet to be determined.’