Would I come and sit in the dark with Dad again? Let him take my hand and have my memories flood me like poison? Yes, I would – for him. I want to do right by Dad. To continue bringing him out into the world. To stand blinking with him on the pavement, like two moles emerging from the hibernation of a very long winter. To be good for him.

‘You know,’ he says, as we near Westminster station, ‘I’ve listened to some podcasts and things, over the years, read articles, but to be present in a room and feel a person’s – an architect’s – enthusiasm; well, that was quite something. I was surprised by it.’

‘Inspired by it, too?’ I venture to ask. ‘For the future?’

‘Don’t push it.’ Dad grins. ‘But maybe.’

‘That’s great, Dad,’ I say. ‘Really great.’

‘It’s all thanks to you, Prue.’

‘I don’t think so.’ It was Dad who came up with the list. Dad who instigated coming today. Dad who suggested the walk to Camden. Dad who’s been brave and can say ‘yes’. Dad who has pushed us back out into the world. While I was crying in the dark, my father was inspired, for the first time in years. While I was trapped in the past, Dad took a possible and hopeful step into the future. I wish I could do the same. I wish for so many things.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text in capital letters suggesting I’ve suffered whiplash when I don’t even own a car. Of course it’s not Salvi texting me. He is not interested. He is too interesting, too successful, too charming, too present in the world for me. Then why did he offer to save me? What is he saving me for? I wish I could get it back, that feeling I had with him on the first night in his flat. That I was precious, that I was beautiful. I want that back so I can be a good girl again.

‘Tomorrow night is Blondie,’ Dad says, as we navigate the barriers at Westminster station.

‘Yes. You’re still OK about going?’

When I first asked Dad, he was taken aback. Then he shook his head and laughed and said, ‘Blondie, eh? I did really love them, back in the day. Especially Debbie Harry.’

‘Who didn’t love Debbie Harry?’ I said.