‘Neither of us got the life we had expected,’ Dad says thoughtfully. ‘Although I expected better of her, for a long time. I expected her to try. I expected her to try to keep on loving us, but she just didn’t have it in her. It’s best if Angela doesn’t expect a reply from your mother,’ he adds. ‘I don’t want her getting hurt, or disappointed. I don’t think she should have written to her …’

‘Bertie!’

We’re at the Roundhouse. From outside a bar opposite, Kemp detaches himself from a cluster of men in jeans and band T-shirts, holding pints, and bounds across the road to us.

‘I was hoping I’d see you. You’re on your way into the concert, right? Hi, Vince.’ He reaches out and shakes Dad’s hand.

‘I’m guessing you are,’ I say. He’s wearing a Parallel Lines T-shirt with a charcoal linen shirt over the top. ‘I didn’t know if you were coming or not.’

I hoped he wasn’t. After that drink with him, I hoped he was never intending to come to this concert. That he gave me tickets just because they were spare. But here he is. And he was hoping to see us. I remember what he said about not giving up on me and he must mean it. I mean, I was so angry with him, yet here he is, with a big smile on his face, once again. He doesn’t look even remotely discombobulated by the fact that he’s confessed to asking me to be his fuck buddy. He must be remarkably thick-skinned, after all.

‘Yes, of course I was. I’ll walk in with you.’

‘What about your mates?’

‘I’ll see them in there. See you in there!’ he shouts to them. He is answered with some thumbs-ups and a couple of ironic salutes. Where did he get them all from? I wonder.

‘My new neighbours,’ he says, ‘most of them. I met them in my new local.’

‘Oh, right.’

He’s had his beard trimmed since I last saw him; and his hair is a bit neater at the sides and the piece that falls into his eyes doesn’t fall down so far. I wonder what his new pub is like and whether it’s anything like ours used to be.

‘How was your lunch at The Monastery?’ he asks, as we join a small queue of people waiting to go through the Roadhouse doors.

‘Oh, great, thanks.’ I then fall silent. I have nothing else to say. I’m hardly going to go into details. Kemp is looking at me, so I look away. I want him to know I’m still angry.

‘Been anywhere you shouldn’t have, lad?’ Dad pipes up, across me, as we start to shuffle forward. ‘You know – the trespassing lark?’