We flicked through sunsets and kangaroos and the stuff with the stingray. I told her some of the better, more adventurous stories like the road trip and music festival and she asked lots of questions about what we ate, which I was happy to recall in almost shockingly clear detail. Then she said, as easily as she might enquire as to a new nail colour: ‘So is Patrick your new boyfriend?’

Patrick looked up at the sound of his name, and Mum froze at the doorway where she was carrying a bowl of olives and toothpicks. She’d stayed out of the way under the guise of prepping lunch in the kitchen, but I knew she was put out by Patrick’s presence. I also knew she’d spoken to Fernanda whilst I was away, and was mad Fernanda had known more than she did about my travel companion. I could have gone to see if she was okay, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to walk into her emotional trap of guilt-tripping me in hushed tones, out of the way of others. I didn’t want to give her the chance to ruin my happiness.

Dad squinted at Mum, slyly slipping his eye across to me, knowing my response would shape the mood of our imminent dining experience – which didn’t seem fair, really. If Mum had spent even five minutes with us in the lounge as we’d all chatted, she wouldn’t feel so much like he was a stranger. I could have made her feel more comfortable, and established some more common ground. She wanted to have an attitude. But this wasn’t about her.

I looked from Patrick, to Dad, to Mum, and then back to Freddie. ‘Yes,’ I said, deciding in an instant that overexplaining would have worse consequences than keeping it simple and direct. ‘He is.’

Patrick shot me a pleased smile with a wink, and carried on with Carol’s belly rub.

‘And I’m very happy about it,’ I added.

‘Good,’ Freddie stated, and she gave me a pleased smile too. She leaned in to whisper, ‘I really like him, Annie-Doo. And Carol does. Look.’

It was true: the dog was putty in his hands.

Mum leaned across to the coffee table to put down the bowl she’d brought through, muttering something akin to, ‘Oh. How nice,’ in a way that meant exactly the opposite, but Dad lifted up his glass in my direction with a cheers motion, letting me know it was no skin off his nose. Sometimes I wondered how a man so relaxed and accepting could ever survive with a woman as haughty as my mum. It couldn’t be easy for him. Mum left the room, and I went back to scrolling through the photos with Freddie.