‘Why are you here?’

‘We’re – your mum and me – we’re going out.’ He passed his palm over the side of his head to flatten his sandy hair, then dropped his pale eyes to the floor and began to tap his foot.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Sorry?’

‘That you’re going out. I mean, I can’t imagine she wants to. We’d planned to watch the television tonight. Dallas. We even circled it in the Radio Times. We always watch it.’

‘Oh. Well. Your mother and I arranged to go to the pub.’ His neck and cheeks were the colour of raspberries. ‘For scampi.’

My mother came into the kitchen and kissed my forehead like I was eleven. ‘Hi, love.’

Just like that. Hi, love. No embarrassed muttering or surprise at seeing Gareth. Just a cheery hi, love.

Gareth smiled with relief and scooted his finger around the inside of his shirt collar.

‘Gareth says you’re going out for scampi.’ I made no effort to hide my annoyance. ‘I thought we were watching the television tonight.’

‘Did we say that?’

‘Dallas. It’s circled. We circle it every week.’

She hesitated and a flash of doubt passed over her face.

‘But if you’ve got something better to do…’ I left my sentence hanging.

‘It’s no problem, Ange. We can go another time.’ Gareth made a sighing noise like a deflating beach ball.

‘Oh, and I’d prefer you didn’t let him use the mug I gave Dad.’

‘Tamsyn, it’s just a—’

‘No! It’s special and I don’t want it broken.’

She shook her head and sighed. ‘Let’s not do this now.’ Her words were delivered with a warning tone intended to remind me Gareth was a visitor in our house and that raising my voice and getting upset was unacceptable.

I didn’t understand why she didn’t tell him to get lost. I’d told her that was all she had to do a hundred times. She didn’t owe him anything and it wasn’t right he pestered her at work. It should be against the law for a boss to do that, to come on to her and make her feel awkward for saying no. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t see him for what he was. A horrible lecher. Why did she thank him for the flowers he bought her when they were clearly cheap and nasty and almost certainly from the bucket in the petrol station on the A30. He had a cheek. It wasn’t as if he’d never met my dad either. They were at school together. He knew what type of man he was. How could he think she’d ever be interested in a puny chip shop owner who wore a shiny blue suit with the sleeves rolled up like a ratty Don Johnson after she’d been married to a man like him?

‘I should go.’ Gareth reached for his jacket from the back of the chair.

My body relaxed a bit, triumphant that I’d been successful in chasing him out of our house.