‘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.

Jess got back from a weekend in Bournemouth an hour or so ago. I was sleeping off a night shift when I heard her coming upstairs and the sound of the shower turning on. It’s nice that she’s back. I don’t know why, but I like it when everyone’s here. I fill the kettle and put it on to boil, absent-mindedly picking up some dishes from the draining board and stacking them on the shelf. The dishwasher’s on the blink again – I got home at half ten this morning to find it had sicked up grey water all over the floor, and I stood for about five night-shift-fuzzy minutes trying to decide if the right thing to do would be to a) pretend I hadn’t seen it and leave it for someone else to deal with or b) unload the half-washed dishes and stack them up by the sink. In the end, I’d given a fairly hefty sigh then got on with it. Meanwhile, someone else had clearly washed them and left them to dry – most likely Rob. He was a stickler for a tidy kitchen.