It occurs to me as we’re wandering along the prom with ice cream cones, admiring the massed plantings of daffodils in their huge pots by the shelters, that Nanna’s got a more interesting love life going on than I do. Something Sophie said the other day comes back to me – she pointed out in the bar the other day that I needed to get back on the horse. I said I’d think about it. And as I stand in the queue waiting for ice creams, I do. Maybe I should take the plunge and try dating again. It can’t do any harm, can it? We’ve got a half-populated Tinder profile sitting there. Maybe – ugh. I grimace. I can’t face the dick pics and the endless stream of weirdos sending messages. I’ve heard so many horror stories.

‘No nice young men on the scene?’ Nanna asks, looking at me over her glasses. It’s as if she can read my mind.

I shake my head.

‘None.’

‘The trouble with you, lovey, is you’ve got a streak of your mother in you.’

I step back, stunned. Mum and I couldn’t be more different. ‘Me? And Mum?’

‘Both old romantics, the pair of you. She’s always dreamed that someone’s going to come and sweep her off her feet, take her away from all this. That’s why she’s addicted to the drama of being on stage. And you’re the same in your own way – hooked on those romantic films.’

I look at her, feeling my brows gathering in a frown of confusion.

‘I don’t think I’m like Mum at all,’ I say, then eat some more ice cream and think about what she’s said. I like it better when Nanna and I talk about day-to-day stuff, when she doesn’t make me confront unpleasant realities. Today it’s as if someone’s taken her filter off. Maybe it’s an age thing.

‘I definitely don’t want someone to sweep me off my feet,’ I say, firmly. ‘I’ve seen more than enough of that with Mum. She’s been swept off her feet by so many dodgy con artists that I’m surprised she even knows whether she’s the right way up or not.’

‘No, but you’d like a nice happy ever after, wouldn’t you?’

I let my guard down a little at that. ‘A bit,’ I concede.

‘What about that nice Alex boy, then? I can’t help noticing you’re spending a lot of time with him.’

‘As friends, Nanna. That’s all.’

She gives me an old-fashioned look. ‘Just friends?’

‘Definitely. It’s nice to have someone showing me London – that’s it.’

‘Hrmm,’ she says, and then changes the subject, in a way that makes it clear she doesn’t believe me for a second.

Chapter Thirteen: Alex

Chapter Thirteen

Alex

31st March, London

‘Stick the kettle on, Alex, I’m gasping for a cuppa.’

I hear Becky call, and the slam of the door, thud of her bag full of papers on the dresser, clatter of her keys landing in the dish she keeps beside the half-dead geranium that’s keeling over on a stand in the hall.