She checked her watch. ‘Do you want to come in?’ She tilted her head back up the path she’d walked down.

Did I want to go inside Farah’s house? No-brainer. ‘Err, yeah. Sure.’ I tried to play it cool. I had to, otherwise I’d be jumping up and down and whooping like an idiot.

She led the way, unlocked the door and let me in. It was a large old house with a high-ceilinged hallway and a floor like a chessboard. ‘Nice house,’ I said, remembering one of the romance novel heroes had got brownie points for this.

‘Thanks. My parents are decorating it bit by bit. Tea? Coffee? Lemonade?’

‘Lemonade please.’ I followed her through to the kitchen. ‘Are your parents not home?’ I wanted to be prepared for any encounters. Get my thoughts ordered in case they suddenly appeared.

‘No, Mum’s shoe shopping with my brother. For him not her, so they’ll be hours. He hates it. Dad has some seminar… I think. Not sure. It’s a work thing anyway. I was going to the library to revise. If I stay here alone I’ll just watch TV and eat crisps.’

‘Sounds idyllic.’

‘Idyllic?’ She smiled at me. ‘Is that your idea of heaven, Tom Harris. TV and crisps?’ She was teasing me but it was gentle and friendly.

‘Pretty much. Add in some Coke and it’s perfect.’ Her eyebrows shot up. What had I said? Shiiiiit. ‘Cola. I mean cola not cocaine. Bloody hell. Sorry.’

She started to laugh and I joined in. ‘You’re funny.’

Not intentionally. She took a large glass out of a cupboard. The kitchen was all modern and fitted with shiny granite worktops and it was super clean and tidy. ‘Ice?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Please.’

She went to a large American-style fridge, pressed a button and ice clattered into the glass. This was a seriously nice place. I wished I’d not said that already. She poured the drinks and passed me mine. ‘Thanks. Look, you might not believe me but I was going to the library too,’ I said.

‘Why wouldn’t I believe you?’

Because I probably look like a stalker, I thought. Outwardly though, I shrugged. ‘Because it’s a bit of a coincidence. But it is true. I had a row with my dad and I can’t go home yet.’

‘You want to talk about it?’

‘Not really…’ She was still looking at me. ‘He accused me of being the mugger.’

‘No way!’

‘I know. Right?’ It was nice to see her disbelief at the injustice of Dad’s accusation.

‘I read about that in the paper. I think whoever it is they’re targeting pensioners coming out of the post office because it’s likely they’ve been to get cash out.’