‘Oh, you have, love,’ Nanny Pat said, studying the face of the man she loved, ‘you have.’

Bessie watched the two older people lock eyes and wondered how you got to be half of a couple like that. A couple that were still together and had survived a long marriage, childbirth, loss, redundancy and a world bloody war. She thought of Lawrence Paulson and the fact that her nan had by all accounts never been kissed when she became a bride, whereas she had had sex nine times already, and most of that had been hurried and conducted within strolling distance of the bus stop. What is wrong with me? Is it okay to like doing sex? She didn’t know who she could ask. Certainly not Michelle. Not now. Having done her duty by the cake and with a jumble of thoughts that needed sorting, she had been keen to get back to the safety of her bedroom.

‘Knock knock!’ her dad said as he pushed her door open, entering her bedroom slowly, giving her the opportunity, as he always did, to close a book, hide a letter, cover up – it made her feel comfortable in her own private space. Her dad might be a wally when it came to playing the harmonica and making klutzy jokes, but he was smart in other ways.

‘Just came to see how you’re doing, sweetheart?’

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, sitting up on the bed with her back against the wall and her shin plasters on full display.

‘I can’t stand the idea of you hiding up here on your birthday. You should be downstairs, celebrating with us.’

‘I’m not hiding,’ she lied again. ‘I just don’t feel much like celebrating.’

Her dad breathed through his nose, as if he understood this. ‘We could have a game of Monopoly if you like, on the kitchen table? That is, if you have a game of Monopoly?’ he winked, leaning on the doorframe.

This made her smile. She looked towards her wardrobe. ‘I think I have five or six now.’

‘And I believe your brother has about the same. So I guess the good news is, you never have to lose a game again.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well,’ her dad said, lowering his voice, ‘with all that cash, you can stash some about your person and, when no one’s looking, like when Mum has to nip to the loo mid-game, you can produce a couple of spare five hundreds and buy Park Lane!’

‘Dad, are you telling me to cheat?’ She was mock aghast. One of his golden rules of parenting was, ‘Always, always tell the truth, no matter what. A lie makes any situation a million times worse!’