There were loads of responsible adults on Lucy’s houseboat because Wednesdays are when his best mates Beano and Gray come around for a pie, a pint and a piece of their mind. Which James said was just an excuse to get blathered and talk shite, but he winked at me when he said it so I could tell he was only joking.

Lucy’s houseboat was pretty small to be a whole house, but it was the coolest place I’ve ever seen and when we squeezed down the tiny stairs straightaway all the guys started going hey and oi and shouting out, what are you doing here, James? James gave his dad a hug hello and then he asked if there was room for a little one, which was me. Lucy said, aye, it was about time they had some new blood in the group, and so even before James told them who I was or why I was there or anything Beano jumped up and Gray budged down and they gave me a spot in between them. There was hardly even any room for me to move my arms, but the guys smelled like Guinness and chicken pie and it felt pretty nice sitting there.

Lucy cut me off a gigantic bit of his famous homemade pie and Gray poured me two fingers of Guinness into a half-pint glass and said, git that indaya, lad, without even asking me if I wanted it. Like I was just one of the guys. And you know what’s funny? It didn’t feel like I was sitting on a boat that was really a house with a bunch of strangers in a strange city and I’d lost my mum and Jax was dead. It felt more like I’d dropped over to a friend’s place for dinner after breaking into a gentleman’s club and rescuing a guy from a tumble dryer and getting his dad’s mooring money back, and that was just a totally normal day, thanks very much.

And because it didn’t feel weird at all and it was actually really nice being with a lot of responsible adults it made me stop worrying about Mum a bit. And maybe because I was still feeling all fizzy inside from rescuing James and escaping from Slim’s goon and the ride on the back of the moped and everything, suddenly my mouth just started talking on its own. I’m not even kidding. It was like when Jax has to let something out of his ideas factory and he blurts it all out in one big long sentence without taking a breath, and then he has to stop and rummage through his backpack or his pocket for a puff on his inhaler because he talked so much he ran out of air.

In between mouthfuls of pie and tiny sips of Guinness so I could make it last, and remembering to keep on taking lots of breaths in between so I wouldn’t run out of air, I told the guys about everything. I mean, not my entire life since I was born, but quite a lot and loads about Jax. I told them how me and Jax were the Rolls-bloody-Royce of best friends and how we made a really cool Five-Year Plan. And that Jax and Norman’s Five-Year Plan turned into Norman’s Plan because now Jax is gone and he’s most probably not coming back. And about Grandpa Foreman, who used to be an almost famous comedian, and my mum, who’s the best mum in the world because she’s helping me get to the Fringe and meet my dad. Even though I know she’s just as scared as me about both those things. Maybe even more.