‘You don’t need to—’

‘I know I don’t need to. I just was! You sounded really down, subdued.’ His tone is so gentle, and his gaze so steady, it’s making me feel all tearful again. This is not good, feeling tearful. I am used to standing up for myself and coping, not crying because somebody is being kind.

‘I’m fine. How can you think that, just from a quick phone call?’

‘One of my superpowers.’ His eyes are twinkling again; there’s a ghost of a grin hanging round his mouth. He’s trying to cheer me up. ‘Am I right, or …’

‘Don’t you dare start that again!’ I can’t help but smile back at him though.

‘That’s what I like to see! My feisty Rosie is back again. Right, I’ve got a free hour, so why don’t I start to rebuild you instead of some derelict building?’

‘Rebuild?!’ I’ve gone a bit screechy. He’s beginning to sound like Dad. I have also just spotted Bea creeping closer. ‘Out, out, now!’ I’ve got him by the front of his T-shirt, and he allows himself to be dragged towards the door. I scowl at him and fold my arms. ‘Right, I thought you said this was about confidence!’

‘It is!’ He touches my elbow briefly. ‘I’m not talking about changing you, Rosie, I’m talking about changing the way you see yourself.’ I squirm under his steady gaze. ‘Everybody else sees the person that you choose to see; if you know you’re great, and you love yourself just as you are, then so will they.’ He winks. ‘Works for me.’

‘So why doesn’t my dad?’ The words are out before I can stop them.

‘Because he’s a shit who just wants to mould the world around himself?’

‘You can’t call him a shit! You don’t even know him.’

He shakes his head, holds his hands up. ‘It was a question. But hey, I’m not your boyfriend, I’m not family, so I can say what I see, can’t I?’ He pauses. I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. ‘For fuck’s sake, Rosie!’

I blanch. I’ve not really heard Noah get angry or swear like that.

‘Sorry, sorry, I just don’t get why anybody would try and …’

‘Yes?’

‘Undermine you like that, let alone your own bloody dad! Aren’t parents supposed to look after you?’

‘He doesn’t mean … you don’t understand, you don’t know him.’

‘No, I don’t.’ He sighs. ‘Don’t do this for him, Rosie, don’t go trying to get a date, or think you need to be glam for your dad. Do it for you, do what you want to do. Eh?’

‘I’m not doing it for him,’ I mutter. But in my heart, I know Noah’s got a point. And if I batter him with the nearest Jamie Oliver cookbook and chase him out of the shop for daring to say what he thinks, then my hopes of a date for the party are zilch, and even the chances of a date before this time next year are severely diminished. ‘Fine, yes, sure. I am.’ I unhand him. Straighten the front of his clothing. Pat him down, then stop abruptly when I realise people going into the shop are staring. ‘So, how are you planning on changing me? Are you going to tell me I’m,’ I wince, ‘more stay-at-home bookworm than sexy seductress?’ If he says ‘yes’ I might have to sack him on the spot. However kind he has been.