As Quinn pulled up beside the largest detached house on the street, Minnie’s mouth fell open in disbelief; this was one of the houses she and Lacey used to make up stories about. A light blue, five-storey mansion that resembled a giant dolls’ house, the kind of house a child might draw if they were drawing the perfect London home. There were neatly pruned box trees either side of the front door, and the blue frontage looked freshly painted. Black railings lined the property, with a hedge growing just behind them, shielding the ground floor from street view. It was an oasis of pristine calm in the centre of a bustling city.

The house sat in a line of other detached houses, all painted in different colours. Minnie and Lacey used to call them the Ice-Cream Houses. She wanted to tell Quinn he lived in the blueberry ice-cream house, but then she thought he might think she was some kind of weird house stalker so she didn’t.

‘This is where your mum lives?’

Quinn nodded.

‘I grew up here. Now I have a flat up the road, but Mum’s still here, rattling around.’

He got out of the driver’s seat and came around the car to open her door. Minnie picked up the last pie and followed Quinn up the steps to the enormous front door. The light was starting to fade and she didn’t have a coat. She shivered slightly. Quinn reached out to put his arm around her, rubbing the top of her arm. It was an instinctive, familiar gesture, as though he’d forgotten for a moment he was standing on the doorstep with a relative stranger, rather than his girlfriend. Minnie’s skin tingled where he’d touched her. He dropped his arm as quickly as he’d offered it, thrusting hands into his pockets, searching for his keys in the half-light.

‘Mum,’ he called out as they went inside. ‘I’ve brought a friend to see you.’

In the living room, they found Quinn’s mother, sitting in an armchair, reading. She must have been in her early sixties, but she looked like a woman in her late forties. She had neatly combed blonde hair pinned up in a bun and her skin was dewy and unblemished. She wore a loose lilac housecoat tied at the waist, her feet girlishly curled beneath her in the chair. To Minnie, she looked like a film star.

‘Quinn,’ she said, closing her book and placing it carefully on the side table, ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

She blinked a few times when she saw Minnie, as though checking to see if there was really another person there. Then she got to her feet, smoothing down her hair and her housecoat with the palms of her hands.

‘Look at the state of me. I’m not dressed for house guests.’