In November I put my house on the market. It was a sudden decision. I’d been walking to my car, which I’d had to park three streets away. This irritating situation had been happening more often. I realised, then, how my neighbourhood had changed. Many of my old friends had gone and the bankers had moved in. My familiar streets were now jammed with SUVs and Porsches. Half the parking spaces were blocked by skips and the houses sheathed in flapping plastic behind which thunderous renovations were being carried out—basements dug out for gyms and cinemas, roofs removed for penthouse extensions. Nobody knew anyone any more. And my old-established neighbours had given way to transients. Nights were punctuated by the trundle of luggage wheels as strangers sought out their Airbnbs. New people had bought the house next door and suffocated their garden with decking, silencing the birdsong. I’d seen no signs of life; like many of the houses theirs remained dark, its only illumination the security lights around the garden and the winking entry-phone set in the prison wall they’d erected at the front.

I hadn’t registered this. For the past fourteen months I hadn’t really noticed anything. Now I’d emerged like Rip Van Winkle from my long hibernation and found the world had changed. Pam had been bemoaning it, of course, but I’d been too distracted to listen. Besides, whenever she waylaid me I was itching to escape.

By the time I arrived at my car I’d decided to sell my house. As Calvin had observed, it was worth a bob or two. The property was mine, Greg was out of my life, I could do what I wanted with it. I could sell up and start a new life in Deal. I’d been thinking about it since that conversation with Calvin. Deal was a charming town, familiar from my childhood. Greg and Azra had never set foot in it. I’d be free.

And rich. Homes were a lot cheaper in Deal. What would I do with all that extra cash? Give it to Max and Lucy?

I sat in the car, thinking long and hard about this. I had to admit that over the past months my children had been something of a disappointment. They hadn’t even flown over for Christmas; at the time they’d had no idea that cousin Dorothy would come to my rescue. The trouble was, as I’ve said, I’d kept assuring them I was fine. Who could blame them for taking me at my word?

Maybe I’d give the money to Extinction Rebellion.

I burst out laughing. A passer-by looked at me. I realised an hour had passed and I was still sitting in my car. A Pimlico Plumbers van had come and gone, and it had started to rain.

Still I didn’t move. I felt a surge of euphoria. I hadn’t expected this; I loved my house and had lived in it for nearly forty years. Life, however, is full of surprises; we can all agree about that.