Zach and Cecilia and a couple of Zach’s friends from school crossed into the kitchen as I was grabbing my new jacket, and I waved at my son.

‘Coming to watch the fireworks?’

‘Sure,’ Zach called back, far more cheerful than earlier. ‘Just getting another 7up.’

I hoped it was just 7up.

‘You coming, hon?’ I heard Melissa behind me as I walked to the front door.

‘Sure.’ I was gratified that she’d returned to apologise.

Rex was at the hall mirror, readjusting his red jacket. His big moment, I presumed.

But Melissa didn’t apologise. She just filled her drink again hurriedly but expertly, without spilling a drop, gave me another glass too, and said, ‘C’mon,’ over her shoulder.

With a sigh, I followed.

Pressed together in front of the small stage in the square, it was much chillier now, and there were precisely no stars visible in the sky. Well, it was London, so what would you expect?

Nothing but layers of complex dirt and shattered dreams.

Am I slightly drunk? I wondered, clutching my plastic cup.

In tight ranks we watched as Rex, in his daft outfit and boots, introduced Marcus – ‘our soon-to-be MP’. He vaulted onto the stage like some kind of rock star – and got a reception a bit like one. And suddenly I could see him clearly, in front of Number 10, about to make a press statement: grave, authoritative and charismatic, all at the same time.

Lena and Ishaan were on the other side of Melissa, her leaning into him comfortably, I noticed, feeling a pang as we waved to one another.

To more rapturous applause, Marcus introduced an Olympic long-jumper, who made a little speech about winners and losers – of which we were all the former, obviously, with our efforts to fundraise for the needy.

‘To new beginnings and friendship!’ The Olympian cut the ribbon, which was purely for show, and did a perfect floss dance, to the younger kids’ delight.

Next, Marcus thanked everyone involved, without actually starting with Nella, I noted, who stood at the side, huddled in a short teddy bear jacket that had definitely been alive once.

I pulled my own coat tighter, trying to forget it was her reject.

Nella didn’t look very cheerful, really, given the success of today – but my eye was quickly drawn back to Marcus.

He was a natural orator, of course, confident and funny. He seemed to be talking right at me, over the crowd in front. Was he going to thank me?

He didn’t, but I found myself blushing deeply, sure he’d just winked!

After Marcus and the Olympian, local grime artist Huff-B appeared on the stage, to wild applause, backed by a couple of athletic-looking dancers in old school Adidas.

Huff-B, despite my reservations, rocked the whole crowd.

‘Who knew the middle-aged of West London were so down with grime?’ I bellowed to Melissa over the whoops and whistles, and she grinned.

‘It’s not just the middle-aged here though, is it, dear?’