Oh, for God’s sake. This was Morpeth station, not JFK, and there was virtually no one else around. I could feel Poppy shrinking in embarrassment but there was nothing I could do about it. I was going to have to acknowledge him and endure the journey as best I could.

‘Hi,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Marlon?’

‘At your service,’ he replied, folding his sign in half and then in half again. ‘Hope you don’t mind the sign. I couldn’t resist and I thought the little man might think it was funny.’

‘He can’t read,’ said Poppy dismissively.

‘Oh,’ said Marlon, scratching his chin with a grubby hand. ‘I didn’t think of that.’ He looked genuinely dismayed and I felt myself warming to him.

‘Thanks for coming to pick us up,’ I said, trying to make up for Poppy’s rudeness. ‘We’re very grateful.’

‘No worries,’ he rallied, perking up a little. ‘It’s nice to get off the estate. I’ve been mowing all morning and I’m starting to see stripes before my eyes.’ Another grin. He was mercilessly cheerful, but I was pretty sure that the word ‘estate’ didn’t mean the same to him as it did to me.

‘The car’s this way,’ he added, signalling towards the car park and then following us out.

I had visions of a Rolls Royce at the very least, so I was a bit disappointed when it turned out to be a perfectly normal Volvo with a pair of wellingtons and a couple of spades in the boot.

‘Here we are,’ he said, flicking open the central locking.

The kids dived for the back doors, Noah’s little bottom sliding across the leather seat as if it were ice. It occurred to me that I should probably have a booster seat for him, but not having a car I didn’t own one. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that far to the house. I wanted to scoot in next to the children but that would probably look odd, so I opened the passenger door and got into the front seat. Marlon started the engine and pulled the car out of the car park.

‘Is it far?’ I asked, thinking of the need for small talk and the lack of a booster seat.

‘About twenty minutes,’ he replied, and my heart sank. What could we talk about? Was it rude to ask him how long he’d worked for the family? What about his private life? No, that was way too personal. Still, he seemed pretty easy-going in a quirky kind of way. I supposed I could think of worse people to be forced to spend twenty minutes with.

‘So,’ he said, cutting across my thoughts. ‘You lot live in Whitley Bay? That’s so cool. I love the sea. Do you know what my favourite thing about the sea is?’