What’s even more okay by me is that Jax’s mum and stepdad might come next year, and it was actually their idea. I haven’t seen them much, because Mum reckons we have to tread lightly around their feelings and seeing me without Jax makes them too sad. But she’s gone around there a couple of times for coffee, and last time she took one of her really excellent almond and only-slightly-out-of-date lemon curd cakes. So I reckon by next year and a few more cakes they’ll be able to come and watch my show and think of Jax without feeling like a big hairy yin is eating its way out of their tummies. I’m still always going to tread lightly, though, because I know exactly how they feel.

But anyhow, I could get run over by a bus before then, or lose an eye in a freak accident with a piece of cutlery. Or God might come good on one of my deals and Jax could be back in Penzance, looking after his armless, legless, no-eyed very happy best mate. Or I could finally get abducted by aliens. I mean, probably not, because nothing like that ever happens down here, but if these last few months proved anything, it’s that one never knows. And that James is probably my dad.

Actually, it was a DNA test that proved that. And the funniest thing is that it wasn’t even me or Mum or James that wanted that test in the end. It was Adam. Can you believe it? He said that as someone with a vested interest he wanted to be absolutely sure where everyone stood. Mum said over her effing dead body was she going to risk him having any kind of vested interest in me, so me, James and Adam did the test. Adam even came down from Bournemouth on the train for the opening of the results, which we decided to do in the pub because it had easy access for his mobility scooter and because that’s where James is staying until he finds a proper flat.

The DNA test said that it was a 99.8 percent probability James was my dad, which is pretty probable but still not guaranteed. I thought Adam would have been happy he was off the hook except for that .2 percent, but he didn’t seem to be at all really. When Mum opened the envelope and read out the results he stopped talking for about five minutes, which is a LOT for him. Except he did say bollocks quite a few times and that he must have something in his eye.

But even though I really, really like James and it’s pretty cool that he’s moved all the way from Scotland so I get to see him nearly every day, and it’s kind of nice to have another guy to shoot the breeze with, and even though we know that there’s 99.8 percent chance that he actually is my dad, I’d never say it, but I know that really and truly I just belong to mum. And that even if she finally says yes to a date with Big Al before he turns seventy-five, like he’s hoping, she’ll really and truly always just belong to me.