‘Fringes are very common. People are always getting fringes.’

‘Yes. That’s what I said to myself. And so I helped her unclip the strap of the car seat. And there was something else about her that bothered me, something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Anyway, that same week there was a Christmas Fair at school. Ness and Leah were quite a hit, this new ‘celebrity’ family. It was because of Leah. Leah Worthington, the newsreader. You know the one: glasses, cool, serious, clever, always looks a bit miserable . . .’

‘I know who she is.’

Fame is such a head-fuck. Leah’s just a normal woman; it’s everyone else who acts differently. Or maybe fame had changed her, I don’t know. She did have that aura of success, a kind of affected nonchalance. Being with her was so odd. Once you’d forgotten who she was, you’d see how people changed when they recognized her: shop assistants, waiters, postmen, bank clerks, teachers, the headmaster – everyone would get a bit giggly around her, a bit flirty. People behaved bizarrely once sprinkled with the fairy dust of fame. Evie and Polly have got used to having special dispensations and privileges they take for granted: straight to the front of queues, friendly faces. Ness is warier of people, doesn’t trust them easily; they’re suddenly much nicer to her when Leah turns up.

‘They were an “unconventional” family, the Joneses. I’d heard people talking about them; everybody was falling over themselves to befriend them. They were glamorous, you see. They were an attraction.’

Dr. Robinson hasn’t moved a muscle, but her eyes are all lit up; I can tell that even she wants to ask me what Leah’s like and all that bullshit. I mean, she’s pretending to be cool about it but underneath that B-is-for-Boden dress, she wants to flash those B for bazookas.

‘At first, I was definitely the exception. I stayed away from them once I realized Leah was famous.’

‘And Karl? Was he impressed?’ she asks.

‘That’s not the point. The Weasel does the impressing. And after much perseverance he succeeded with Leah. She thought he was hilarious. He can make anyone like him; he kind of hijacks them until they relent to the charm onslaught. That’s why he’s so good at his job, after all: getting everyone on his side. It’s odd, he even wants strangers to like him – he used to lift the kids up on to his shoulders with loud whoop-di-doos in public spaces, just to be sure everyone noticed what a cracking father he was . . . It’s extremely important to him that everybody thinks he’s fantastic. I expect you already do.’

‘I haven’t met him.’

‘Oh, you will. And you’ll think he’s fantastic, he’ll make sure of that. The irony is he is fantastic; he just doesn’t need to try so hard.’