One by one they peel themselves away from me and then en masse crash upstairs like stampeding elephants. The silence they leave in their wake is deafening, only broken by Edie clinking china together as she goes about her tea-making duties. I look round the kitchen. My sister has loads of gadgets too—microwave, dishwasher, food processor, juicer, cappuccino maker, bread maker. I wonder how many of them she actually uses. I’ve never seen much evidence from the bread maker—no feather-light croissants or home-baked sun-dried, rustic tomato bread. Shop-bought, thick, white sliced is the variety that most frequently graces Edie’s kitchen.

The room is lime green, because primary colours stimulate children—so she says—and I’m not sure how much more stimulation Edie’s children need. They already seem to be ten points past hyperactive.

We are clearly in for a session as my sister raids her children’s stash of biscuits and puts out a plate of chocolate digestives to accompany our pot of tea—reminding me that some British institutions are still utterly wonderful.

‘So,’ she says, biting into one. ‘How was it?’

‘Wonderful.’ I select a digestive and start to lick the chocolate off it. ‘All of it.’

‘But you’re glad to be back.’

‘No.’ I rub a hand over my forehead. ‘Honestly, Edie,’ I say, ‘I’m sure I’ve got more problems now than I did before I went.’ In fact, I know I have. ‘Jake just seems to think that we can pick up where we left off….’

‘And you can’t?’

I focus my attention on my biscuit. ‘There are complications.’

‘Oh?’ My sister is all ears. ‘What’s he called?’

Trust my darling Edie to cut to the chase. We both laugh. ‘Dean,’ I say. ‘He’s called Dean.’

‘And the problem is?’

‘He’s dirt poor, he can’t offer commitment and he lives in Nepal.’

‘This is not sounding good,’ Edie says. ‘He’d better be hung like a donkey.’

‘He is.’

‘Fair play.’ With a reluctant nod, my sister chooses and demolishes another biccy.

‘We had a fabulous, fabulous fling,’ I continue, trying to ignore the rather X-rated flashbacks that are popping up at this inopportune moment. ‘But now that I’m back, I don’t know if that’s all that it was. A fling.’

‘You haven’t heard from him?’

‘He hasn’t got a phone,’ I point out. ‘He hasn’t got electricity.’

‘But he has other charms.’

‘Lots of them.’

‘Keep reminding me of this,’ Edie says.

‘He’s wonderful,’ I insist. ‘Truly wonderful. You’d love him. He’s all I’ve ever wanted in a man.’

‘But with money, a penchant for commitment and not living on another continent.’

‘Nothing’s insurmountable.’

‘Oh really?’ Edie says cryptically. Her smile dies. ‘I’d say some things are.’

I put my tea down. ‘I take it we’re no longer talking about my predicament.’