‘Go-d!’ he groaned. ‘What’s in it for me?’

‘A clip round the ear if you don’t hurry up,’ I said, knowing full well he wasn’t the least bit scared of me: fighting fit, almost a foot taller than me – and charged with testosterone. It was part of a new problem, I was finding – dynamics shifting between us perpetually. ‘Plus Marcus says he’ll introduce you to his friend at the music company.’

‘Music company?’ Zach sighed, but he did perk up a little. ‘Why?’

‘So you could get some work experience? It’s a great opportunity.’ I pulled open my bag and shoved the controller inside. ‘Get in the shower now – or no gaming till next week!’

Huffing, he complied, while I spent the next frantic fifteen minutes worrying about why he was being weird about Cecilia again and attempting to wash ketchup marks off his best white Champion T-shirt – very slightly cleaner than the others I’d scooped off his bedroom floor.

Hastily switching the heating on to dry it, I heard the boiler groaning into life – a relief at least, given we didn’t usually put the heating on until late November these days, despite the constant draught from the balcony door. I went to shut the laptop down, open on an email inbox that wasn’t mine.

My phone pinged. My own getting ready would have to be completed in under ten minutes, with no shower at all – because Zach was now in it.

Fumbling with my make-up, I checked my message: Nella – asking me to collect bags of change from the newsagent on the corner, for the float.

Running late! They’re expecting you.

‘You really saw me coming, didn’t you?’ I muttered.

I’ll do my best, I texted back, shoving Zach’s T-shirt over a tepid radiator.

There was no time to wash my hair now, so I scraped it back with a load of Zach’s wax and a glittery hairband of Ali’s, and hoped it looked kind of Beatnik, as opposed to daft and dirty. I tried not to curse Melissa.

The T-shirt was still soaking.

‘At least you’re good for something.’ I snatched the hairdryer up and the T-shirt off the grumbling radiator, blasting it with hot air.

‘First sign of madness, Mum.’ Zach grinned from the doorway, wrapped in a towel. ‘Talking to yourself.’

‘I’ll give you mad. Get dressed, matey, please. We need to go.’

Shoving on a stripy T-shirt, denim pinafore and my trusty Converse, I fired off a quick text to Melissa.

You will be at this Jackson drinks thing later, won’t you?

Just stop me – followed by an eye-winking tongue-lolling emoji face.

Reassured as that made me, honestly, I would be inordinately relieved when the whole day was over. Except it meant I wouldn’t see as much of—

I stopped that thought right in its tracks and adjusted my hairband.

‘C’mon on, Zachy.’ I grabbed the last of the biscuits I’d left to cool this morning, carefully labelled against all the allergies that – given the refined company – were likely to come today.