I thought so too but it was very nice to have it pointed out. Looking back, it was probably the compliments that blinkered me to those palpable warning signs. How pathetic is that?

‘What does your partner do?’ she asked me.

‘He’s a consultant in communications,’ I said, which never fails to shut people up. ‘What about your husband?’ I asked, after the pause.

‘Wife, actually. She works in TV.’

Well, that shut me up. She was a lesbian. How refreshing. This neighbourhood needed a bit of diversity wherever it could find it; the school had got whiter and blonder with each passing year, the parents more homogeneous – a growing number of men in salmon cords with hearty laughs and women with salon-shiny hair being walked by dogs that didn’t moult. I immediately wanted to ask her about the girls: who was the biological mother? Who was the father? What do they call you? All those obvious questions that no one likes to ask but everyone wants to know. Then all the unobvious questions I wanted to ask, like how she knew she was gay. I was intrigued. I’d always been straight as a die. The idea of making love to a woman had never held any allure for me. I loved men. I loved their bodies, I loved their differences, I loved their masculinity. But I didn’t ask her anything, of course; I tried to give the impression of being cool.

‘I like your hair . . . your fringe,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to tell me where a good hairdresser’s is around here . . . I don’t know the area at all.’ She was patting her wispy locks, looking at me in that sideways way. I have to say, I’d only just had my hair cut and was feeling rather self-conscious about it. Potentially I looked a bit 1974 – and not in a good way. The hairdresser had been somewhat gung-ho and on leaving the salon, I’d caught a glimpse of myself from the side with what looked like a well-groomed guinea pig perching on my forehead.

‘Sure! There’s a good place up by the library,’ I said, leaning over to get a better view of Annie, who was roaming about in a way that made me suspicious – she had been known to squat down for a crap in the bushes. She’s too feral, that child of mine.

‘I’m Ness, by the way!’ she said, holding out her hand.

‘I’m Connie,’ I replied, shaking hers.

And so the bond was made.