‘Are you ready?’ Jan smiled from the doorstep, wrapped in a cashmere poncho, ubiquitous green wellness shake in hand.

‘Um…’ I looked at her and realised, with horror, I rather loathed her. ‘God, sorry – actually, not quite. Meet you there, hon.’ I shut the door smartly. I couldn’t walk with Jan, not in good faith.

‘Jan’s here, Rexie.’ I kissed the top of Rex’s head, just visible above his La-Z-Boy. ‘Won’t be long.’ I curbed any potential moaning with a little neck rub. ‘We want to keep on the Jacksons’ good side, don’t we, honey? They really seemed to like you.’

‘Well, of course, it’s good to do what you can to help,’ he said, as if it had been his idea for me to go. ‘They’re exactly the kind of parents we need at school. God knows it’ll be a nice change from the pupil premium lot.’

‘Sure.’ I grabbed my bag. ‘I’m going to pop to the gym after, if that’s OK. Gotta keep things up for you, right, hon?’

Thrusting more lager into his hand, I left, before he changed his mind.

Pat’s house – the ramshackle vicarage on the far side of the square, adjacent to a sprawling council estate – was as warm and smelly as ever when she opened the front door. Lentil roast I guessed, mixed with at least four dirty nappies and fragrance of damp dog, although she didn’t actually have one, as far as I knew.

Probably caring for some poor parishioners who’d found themselves in dire straits, knowing Pat.

‘We’re in the conservatory. I had to turf Laz out – he was doing some science experiment as usual.’ She was wearing a terrible tie-dye smock, straggly carrot-red hair dragged upwards in a strange, tortoiseshell clip. ‘It smells very chemical in there now, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s commitment for you,’ I said, kissing her round cheek hello. ‘Working in the holidays.’

‘Aye well, he’s a good wee boy.’

‘Not so wee, Pat!’ Laz was at least six foot, last time I looked, and at uni, I thought.

‘Och, I suppose not. I still think he’s about ten, the wee—’ She looked at me and laughed. ‘The lamb. I wish he’d get out more, you know, with the other young folk. Obsessed with the chemistry set, always fiddling. Studying at Imperial, you know!’ She looked so proud.

‘Ah, good for him. And at least you know where he is, I guess.’

I knew Ruby worried every time Zach went out the front door, knife crime being what it was these days in London.

‘There is that,’ she said comfortably, breathing noisily as always. ‘Look, I’m still buttering the malt loaf, so you go on through.’

Malt loaf – what are we, six? I didn’t say it; she was too sweet to tease.

Such a lovely lady, Pat, warm and bosomy as ever. She always made me think of my mother.

If I actually had any real memory of my mother, of course.