‘Sorry about the mess,’ said Kerry, nodding towards the toys and various items of dress-up, littering the sofa. ‘I bet your place is immaculate. Giles mentioned that you don’t have kids.’

I blinked and felt myself redden. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right, I don’t. I’m single,’ I said awkwardly.

She put a hand to her mouth, now looking a little pink herself. ‘God, that sounded awful – the way I said about you not having kids – like Giles had been discussing you and you know he’s not like that at all.’.

‘It’s OK, I know he’s really discreet. Hopeless at gossip, actually.’

She smiled, as if relieved. ‘Yeah, the thing about kids just came up when we were talking about family one day. But when he texted last night to say you were coming to get Anthony, I thought, Jesus, she’ll think a bomb’s gone off in here. In my defence, it’s not usually quite this bad, but they were getting stuff out as fast as I was putting it away last night and sometimes you’ve just got to say stuff it, haven’t you? It won’t take long to sort out when we get home this evening and I’d rather have them being Batman and Wonder Woman than staring at a screen.’

‘Definitely,’ I agreed, wondering whether it was Harry or Ollie who was the cross-dresser, ‘and if it makes you feel better, I’ve left laundry hanging from every radiator in my flat this morning.’

She made a so-so gesture with her hand.

‘But anyway,’ she said, leaning back in her chair, pulling a scrunchie from her wrist and piling her hair on top of her head, ‘what’s it like having Giles for a cousin? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem quite as posh as him.’

‘Is anyone as posh as Giles?’

‘Excellent point,’ she laughed, picking up her mug and saluting me with it.

‘We’re not actually related,’ I said, drinking my tea.

‘You’re not?’ She lowered her mug to the table and leaned towards me, clearly interested. ‘Really? So why does he call you his cousin, then?’

‘I do the same, just because it’s easier, but we’re actually step-cousins. Giles’s mum died when he was still in primary school and, a couple of years after that, Giles’s dad needed someone to sort out their huge garden and my aunty was a landscaper – the rest is history.’ I smiled at the thought of the romantic tale of love blossoming with the roses, recounted to me so often by my mother. ‘Giles and I are both only children and we used to spend a lot of time together in the holidays, so we’re very close; closer since we each lost our parents. His stepmum – my aunty – was the last to go, and she died three years ago.’