He says nothing and continues to hold out the iPad. I take it and quickly read the list. Primrose Hill, Little Venice, St Dunstan in the East, Covent Garden, Liberty, the Albert Hall, the Shard, Kenwood House and the Albert Bridge.

‘I’m really surprised,’ I say. ‘And it’s quite a long list,’ I add, scanning it again. ‘In this order?’

He nods.

‘What’s St Dunstan in the East?’

‘A hidden garden. The ruins of a church near Tower Hill. It’s very beautiful.’

‘You want to go to all these places?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘I thought you hated going to Camden today,’ I repeat.

‘We can try again,’ he says.

I stare at Dad’s list of places. Some are walking distance. Some are tube journeys away. Can we really head back out there, to all these places? Can we make it there and back, unscathed? Can we be together, father and daughter, for all these trips, and forced to talk, to spend time in each other’s company – properly? I really don’t know if this is a good idea.

‘OK, we can do this,’ I say reluctantly.

‘Great.’ Dad reaches for the iPad and heads back into the kitchen. ‘Lunch will be in ten minutes.’

I watch as he disappears through the doorway. Maybe Dad doesn’t really mean it, this list. Maybe if I don’t mention it again, he won’t either. Maybe he’ll forget about it. I just can’t imagine it, after Camden. I can’t imagine the pair of us walking around London and taking up space in the world, after all this time, like a couple of aliens landed from Mars. It’s too strange. Too far from comfort.

I sit back down in my chair, click on Facebook again. I want to look up Philippa Helens. Distract myself from lists and proposed trips out and feeling like an alien … Oh, I have a Friend Request. Freddie Whitehorn – a boy I liked at school, who used to catch me staring at him until one time he said, ‘Why are you so ugly?’ and I blushed, and he just laughed and laughed for about five minutes, in Chemistry, until everyone joined in with him … He’s probably taking the piss so I delete the request.