As we pass the Painted Hall, one of the violinists plays a discordant note and the music comes to an abrupt stop. The noise is so ugly and jarring, so thoroughly unexpected, that I recoil almost as if I’ve been shot, suddenly feeling as fragile as a blown egg. My new friend turns to me, one eyebrow raised, a wry look of amusement on her face, and I feel foolish and embarrassed about my extreme reaction.

“You must be a nightmare to watch a scary film with,” she says.

I don’t tell her that I never watch scary films, that there’s enough horror in my head to last a lifetime, thank you very much. No, I don’t tell her that. I just laugh and say, “Yes, I am.”

—

When I get off at the bus stop on Little Heath and turn in to the side street that leads to our house, I ring Mum and tell her about my plans. She puts me on loudspeaker so Dad can hear, too. She sounds really pleased—they both do.

“Your dad’s always said you’d make a good academic. We always wanted you to go to uni, but you were so adamant you didn’t want to.”

I can’t help smiling at her version of events. What actually happened was that they did everything they could to persuade me to go to the local university so that I could still live at home with them. They were terrified I’d go to Edinburgh or Aberystwyth or somewhere miles away and they wouldn’t be there to protect me. In the end, I decided not to go at all. I wasn’t ready.

We chat for a little longer about this and that. Mum’s plans for turning my old bedroom into her craft room. Dad’s new shed.

I laugh. “How many sheds does one man need?”

“Three,” Dad says in the background. “Ross has got a lot of catching up to do.”

We say goodbye and I tuck my phone into the top pocket of my coat. The warm spring weather has brought the cherry blossom out early and transformed the gray uniformity of our street into something pink and hopeful and pretty. It’s that time of year when anything seems possible. A time of new beginnings. New growth.

When I used to come down to London on the train to visit Ross in his old flat, I couldn’t imagine living here. But now that I am, I’m seeing things in a different light. I’m starting to appreciate that wonderful sense of anonymity as I go about my business. It’s so different from the small-town life I’m used to.