‘You’re here too! How great.’ I thought fast. Everything was fine. Nothing to see here. No homicidal clowns to meet. No Chinese ministers to save. I was just at a funfair with a school-run dad. I looked across at Frederick. Maybe they wouldn’t notice his piercing blue eyes, chiselled jaw, broad shoulders and toned torso all packaged together in a perfectly cut suit.

‘Shona and Frankie, this is Frederick. Our daughters are at nursery together.’

They both looked at him. ‘Hello,’ they chorused. Frankie may have smirked.

‘Owwwwwww!’ Over on the bouncy castle Florence let out a cry. She was lying stricken on the mat.

Frederick said, ‘Apologies, I just need to . . .’ and he charged off to Florence.

Shona and Frankie both watched him leave and then turned to look at me.

I took in their raised eyebrows. ‘What?’

‘What are you doing?’ asked Shona.

‘I’m just . . . it’s a funfair. We were both coming here anyway so thought we might as well come together.’

Frankie was shaking her head the whole time I was talking. ‘No, no, no. The ice cream licking, the laughing, the eye’ – she looked down at Willow – ‘fudging. This is trouble.’

How long had they been watching us?

‘Two people of the opposite sex can be friends.’

‘You’re choosing that guy, Mr Male Model, as a platonic friend?’ said Frankie. The two of them fell about laughing.

‘You told me I needed to make more effort with the parents at Gigi’s nursery, so I am.’

‘Have you learned anyone else’s name?’

‘Of course. I know . . . Rochelle.’

‘Isn’t she the one that fancies Will?’ asked Shona.

‘And you hate her,’ finished Frankie.

‘Yes but I’ve learned her name.’

Frederick came back up to us. Florence’s tears had dried and she was now back bouncing alongside Gigi.

‘Crisis averted.’

‘Mama, we need to go. The concert starts soon.’ Willow was tugging on Shona’s hand.

Shona checked her watch. ‘OK, OK, we’re going. Nice to meet you, Frederick.’

‘Yes, very nice to meet you, Frederick,’ added Frankie with a smile. ‘Lex, we’ll talk to you later.’

‘Clown,’ said Frederick, interrupting my thoughts about how I was going to cope with the WhatsApp assault later.

I looked towards where he was pointing. Over by the carousel was a clown in a bright yellow outfit with enormous red fluffy buttons and a rainbow ruffle around his neck. His full face of white make-up was complete with painted-on black eyebrows, elongated black eyelashes and giant red lips. The look was finished with a spiky red wig and a stuck-on red nose. He was leaning against the side of the carousel with his arms crossed. I looked down at his feet. No comedy big shoes, just combat boots. The rest of his costume may be different but he had been wearing those same boots and the spiky red wig the last time we met.