“Absolutely, no problem! The more the merrier!”

It didn’t seem like anything would be a problem for Tony, and in that case did I mind if he brought along his partner, Kathy, as well, who he was sure would be delighted to meet me. I couldn’t decide whether the prospect of disappointing Tony’s girlfriend or them thinking I had a boyfriend in his eighties worried me more, but we made arrangements to meet the next morning. I hung up wondering if Kathy would be so happy to meet me once I’d laid the news of Norman’s possible parentage at her pretty Welsh feet.

Tony looked exactly the same as the last time I’d seen him. Actually, that was naked and asleep, so maybe I’m exaggerating slightly, but apart from a few more clothes (and, come to mention it, that looked suspiciously like the same shirt and jeans I’d trampled over so cavalierly on his bedroom floor while making my escape) and the addition of some black-rimmed glasses, he really hadn’t changed at all. When I saw him walk into the café, 2008 picked me up and slammed me right back against the wall without even shaking my hand.

Kathy wasn’t Welsh, she was from Leeds and she was lovely, if perhaps a little less delighted to meet me than Tony had promised. Not that I blamed her, and she didn’t even know the half of it. She was literally the feminine version of Tony, which did make me wonder about life, the universe and everything just a bit. How the hell had those two lucked out and found each other? Not only did they have identical wavy brown, mid-shoulder-length hair and the same dark brown eyes, they also looked like they chose their outfits from the same pile of clothes every morning. Shabby, crumpled and androgynous, because they had better things to do with their time than wash, iron or separate their whites. Which was probably true, because they were both full-time social workers and ran a drop-in center and soup kitchen in the evenings and on weekends. Of course they did.

In between tea and carrot cake all round, Tony and Kathy chatted away about the down-and-outers of Swansea, and their poetry slam group that had started with one old guy who came for the free biscuits and now had forty-three chocolate-digestive-eating members. And how a committee member from the Cardiff Harbour Festival had got wind of the group and invited them up there to perform. And about Big Joe, who was fifty-six and had never been farther than the Swansea seafront in his entire life and was now going to Cardiff to sing for the mayor.

“Imagine that!” said Kathy. When she spoke she said it straight to Tony, like he was finding out this amazing fact for the first time and wasn’t the guy she woke up to every morning of her life. Tony responded equally as enthusiastically.

“I know, right? Incredible, Kath.” Then they gave each other a little squeeze, like they’d just shared the most wonderful piece of information in the world.