I drove home wondering what Rufus was doing at my house. He must be at a loose end, though I couldn’t imagine it somehow. Didn’t he have Christmas shopping or something to do?

More importantly, why was I a bit put out at the thought of him turning up out of the blue? Because he hadn’t been invited? It wasn’t as if he’d never been to the house before, and if we were in a relationship, I’d have to get used to it. I could hardly keep seeing him without ever bringing him home.

‘That’s what people with boyfriends do,’ I said out loud. Danny was like part of the family at Cassie’s house, and Meg’s mum had practically adopted Nathan, who sadly didn’t have a mother of his own.

Would Mum and Dad eventually see Rufus as the son they’d never had? I couldn’t quite conjure a set-up where we were all sitting around the table, enjoying a Sunday roast, or watching something together on the television – probably because it was something I’d never done. I had no idea whether Rufus watched anything but sport on TV and, if he did, what he liked. Or what his favourite music/colour/animal/star sign was. No, that was a lie. I did know his star sign, because his birthday was three days after mine, which meant we were both Virgos; though Rufus had more of the traits than I did, being meticulous, practical and reliable – though his recent outburst of love wasn’t exactly typical.

Still, his brother’s wedding was an hour’s drive away, which meant I could fill in the gaps on the way there and back. Maybe I should draw up a list of things to ask – favourite childhood memory, first kiss, would he rather be a ninja or a pirate? (Ninja for me – much cooler, plus I get seasick.) I could ask the big things too – did he want children? Who did he vote for in the last election? Did he believe in the right to die? What was his favourite snack?

I was starting to feel sweaty and nauseous and opened the car window a notch. I was probably hungry. All the hilarity at the café, and then the painting, had worked up an appetite, and I hadn’t had a chance to drink Gwen’s brandy-coffee.

After parking behind Rufus’s shiny, economical, hybrid car, I burst into the kitchen to find him ensconced at the table, opposite Bridget, who’d made an effort with her hair, and was wearing lipstick, and one of Mum’s nicer cardigans – cream with pearly buttons – with a pair of narrow-cut jeans that enhanced her curves. Obviously meeting Seth was having a knock-on effect. Maybe they’d arranged to see each other again.

‘What are you doing here?’ I turned to Rufus, who was rising from the table, smoothing his hands down his trousers, and I noticed a festive bouquet on the worktop, scarlet and green with pine cones, their scent rather overpowering.

‘Just thought I’d pop in and say hi.’ He came over to press a kiss on my cheek and squeezed my upper arm. ‘I brought Christmas flowers.’

‘So I see,’ I said. ‘They’re lovely, thank you.’ No one had ever bought me flowers before. ‘I thought you’d be busy.’ Steering clear of the bouquet, which was inducing a headache, I plucked a clementine from the fruit bowl and peeled it.

‘I got fed up of practising my speech.’ He sat back down, clearly at home in our kitchen as he picked up the mug of black coffee that Bridget must have made. ‘I was wondering what you’d like for Christmas.’

‘Oh, you don’t have to get me anything.’ His face fell and I was pricked with guilt that I hadn’t considered buying him a gift. ‘The flowers are enough,’ I said. ‘Maybe we can have a look at the sales in the New Year?’

He brightened – whether at the idea of shopping, or because I was planning ahead, I couldn’t tell. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘There’s some nice leather goods in Tanner Bates, but they’re a bit pricey. Bound to come down after Christmas.’

Still in my jacket, I crossed to where Romy was leaning over a book, painstakingly colouring in. ‘Ooh, a blue Minion, that’s unusual.’ I felt a stab of affection as I spotted the wax crayon clutched in her chubby fist.

‘I like blue.’ She paused to swipe a curl of hair off her forehead and threw me an angelic smile.

‘She keeps saying more than one word.’ Bridget’s tone was a mix of bemusement and wonder as she moved from the table to the worktop.

‘Blue!’ shouted Romy, and we laughed.

‘Blue’s a good colour.’ I sat beside her and ate a segment of fruit, smiling in Rufus’s direction. ‘I haven’t got long,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to be working.’

‘Your sister was telling me you’ve quite a lot on at the moment.’ He put down his mug and rested his forearms on the table, lacing his fingers together. He looked as if he was about to interview me; very teacher-like in his pale pink shirt. It was gripped in the waistband of his trousers with a brown leather belt that matched his shoes. ‘You didn’t let on that you were so busy these days.’

I glanced at Bridget, watching us from the worktop where she’d been attempting to make a pie, judging by the heaps of greyish pastry lumped around, and bags of opened flour. The fact that she kept on trying, despite all evidence telling her she ought to give up, made fondness swell inside me. Catching my gaze, she gave a tight shake of her head, and in a moment of complicity, I understood that she hadn’t mentioned to Rufus that I was ‘working’ for Seth Donovan.

‘Well, you know me,’ I said. ‘I don’t want it getting out that I’ve joined the rat race.’

He choked out a snorting laugh that made Romy’s head whip up.

‘Pig!’ She chortled and went back to her colouring.

I watched a tide of red wash up from Rufus’s neck.

‘Sorry,’ said Bridget, in a slightly strangled voice. ‘She didn’t mean… it was just the sound you made…’

‘Oh, it’s fine.’ He waved his hand with a rather weary smile. ‘I’ve been called a lot worse by my sixth-formers. You’d think with the education they’ve had by this stage, they’d come up with something better than pillock.’

‘Oh, I get it,’ said Bridget. ‘Because your surname’s Pinnock.’

A laugh bolted out of my mouth before I could stop it. ‘Sorry,’ I said, when Rufus turned disappointed eyes my way.

‘Pillock,’ Bridget murmured. I caught a glimmer of amusement in her face and had to stem another flow of laughter. ‘My English teacher was called Miss Bullwinkle, which was funny enough on its own.’

‘She was still there when I started school,’ I said. ‘Everyone called her Miss Winky, because… well, I don’t know, really. I suppose it was easier to say.’

‘It’s bullying really.’ Rufus folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. ‘Imagine someone shouting Pillock! every time you walk past, or in class, and pretending they were coughing when you ask them what they said.’

‘It can be affectionate, though.’ Bridget sounded conciliatory. ‘Or a harmless way of getting back at the establishment.’

‘I hadn’t thought of it like that,’ he said, shooting her a grateful look.

‘I already told you,’ I couldn’t resist pointing out. ‘You shouldn’t respond.’

‘So, what are you wearing for this wedding on Saturday?’ said Bridget.

I looked at Rufus, then realised she was talking to me.

‘Oh, I hadn’t really thought about it.’ I mentally ran through the items in my wardrobe and tossed them all on the floor. ‘I might have to buy something.’

‘A dress.’ Rufus instantly revived. When he smiled, he really was very cute. I had a minor flashback to him kissing my neck in his bedroom, and remembered that things were nice in that department. The earth might not have moved, but who wanted earthquakes?

‘I don’t really do dresses,’ I said, through another mouthful of clementine, handing a segment to Romy, who placed it gently in her box of crayons. ‘I’m not the right shape.’

‘You’re definitely the right shape.’ Rufus’s eyes travelled over me appreciatively. ‘Something above the knee would suit you.’

Bridget fastened the top button of her cardigan. ‘She doesn’t like showing her legs, I don’t know why.’ I sensed a compliment in there somewhere and threw her a smile.

‘I know, it’s a pity.’ Rufus sounded sorrowful – as if he’d discovered that Santa didn’t exist. ‘I’ve told her they’re stunning, but she just shrugs it off.’

‘Hello, I’m right here.’

Rufus apologised. ‘I’m being a bit of a dinosaur,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not on board with feminism. I fully support your right to wear whatever you like.’ He adjusted his shirt collar. ‘But a dress would really suit you.’

‘I’ll find something suitable, but prepare to be disappointed.’

‘Never.’ He said it so fervently that Bridget’s eyes widened.

‘Have you ever been married?’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve asked Tilly that.’

She hadn’t shown much interest at all, beyond the fact that I was ‘dating’ Rufus, and he had Dad’s seal of approval.

‘No.’ He scratched the back of his head. ‘I was in love, once, but then I found out she was seeing my brother.’

I looked at him in surprise. ‘That must have been awful.’ I remembered Grant, with the luxurious beard and gentle smile. Hard to imagine them liking the same woman, somehow. ‘What happened?’

‘They’re getting married on Saturday.’

‘What?’

‘Won’t that be a bit awkward?’ Bridget sounded equally uncomfortable.

‘I shouldn’t think so.’ Rufus looked surprised. ‘She never knew I liked her. It was one of those “love from afar” things.’

‘Right.’ I was unsure whether what I was feeling was relief or annoyance. Why hadn’t he said that in the first place?

‘Silly,’ said Romy, as though she’d absorbed everything and distilled it into a single word. She’d finished colouring her Minion blue, and had surrounded it with big red kisses.

‘Looks good.’ I stroked a hand over her hair, and she nodded without looking up. ‘I’ve got to go.’ I made a thing of looking at my watch and grimacing. ‘Work to do, et cetera.’

Taking the hint, Rufus stood up and removed his coat from the back of the chair; the same coat he’d worn the day we’d talked on the beach – the day I’d saved Jack. ‘I’ll pick you up at ten Saturday morning.’

‘Seven, eight, nine, ten,’ recited Romy.

‘Oh, good girl!’ Bridget’s smile was so wide and warm as she picked up her daughter and kissed both cheeks, I couldn’t help smiling too, and started when Rufus laid his hands on my shoulders and pressed his mouth to mine.

‘Well, that was… interesting,’ said Bridget, when Rufus had driven off and Romy had scampered up to her room to find Teddy.

Something about her tone made me look at her twice. ‘Interesting, as in…?’

She picked up a lump of pastry and dropped it in the bin. ‘As in, weird.’

I’d been about to get up, but stared at her instead. ‘I thought you approved of him.’

Another clump of pastry vanished into the bin. ‘I’ve only really glimpsed him before but from what Dad said, he seemed nice.’

‘And now he doesn’t?’

‘I don’t know.’ She undid the top button of her cardigan. ‘He was different in my head.’

She’d been so adamant that Rufus was the sort of man I should be having a ‘grown-up’ relationship with, I’d expected her to sing his praises the second he left the house. ‘Different, how?’

‘Nicer.’ She dusted her hands down her jeans and met my gaze. ‘I think he might be a bit of a wanker.’

‘A wanker?’ If she’d said she was giving up finance to become a DJ I’d have been less surprised. ‘Why?’

‘I got the impression when he arrived that he wanted to check you weren’t having doubts about this wedding, and if you were, whether I might change your mind.’ A shaft of light poured through the window, rinsing her hair red-gold, so it looked like it did in a photo of her on the dresser, cradling me as a baby. ‘I told him, if you’d said you were going, you would.’

I widened my eyes, as if to more fully absorb the look on her face. ‘He’s worried because I didn’t say yes right away, that’s all,’ I said. ‘I really don’t think he’s a wanker.’

‘Are you sure?’ Her eyes were avid, as if my answer mattered.

‘Well, how would you define wankery?’

She thought for a moment. ‘If I looked it up in the dictionary, I’d expect Rufus’s face to be there.’ Her impression of his earnest expression was so accurate, I dissolved into laughter.

‘That’s mean,’ I said, once I’d recovered. ‘He’s honestly not that bad.’ I told her about the misunderstanding over the paint on the café windows and the humour left her face.

‘That’s not romantic, whatever your friend says, it’s wrong,’ she said. ‘It’s actually a criminal act.’

‘Don’t be dramatic, Bee, he’d probably had a drink and didn’t think it through.’ I remembered his stricken face when I told him I’d had to clean up the mess. ‘He was definitely being romantic.’

Bridget’s frown was back in force. ‘Does he drink a lot?’

‘No, at least…’ I hesitated. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. He hadn’t drunk that much whenever we’d been out together, but I had no idea whether he drank at home. ‘No more than anyone else.’ I broke away from her gaze. ‘He brought me flowers,’ I pointed out.

‘Yes, and those pine cones are giving you a headache.’ Her face loosened into a smile. ‘That’s why I put the bouquet over there.’

‘Thanks.’ I was smiling too. She’d moved them because she’d remembered I didn’t like the smell of pine.

‘The point is, if he knew you properly, he’d never have brought them in the first place,’ she said.

‘But we’re still at the getting-to-know-each-other stage.’ I felt an urge to impress her with how ‘adult’ I was being. ‘Remember, Dad recommended him, so he can’t be a total wanker. Rufus, I mean, not dad.’

She flopped back in her chair and studied me for a moment. ‘Well, it’s good that you’re giving him a chance.’ She drummed the tabletop with her fingertips and pulled a face. ‘And I’m hardly fit to be giving relationship advice.’ She’d never referenced her own track record before – at least not in a self-deprecating way. If this was the result of an evening with Seth Donovan, I had a lot to thank him for. ‘I suppose the wedding will throw you together for a day, and you’ll have a better idea at the end of it whether you’re right for each other.’

‘Wow,’ I said, faking amazement to disguise the fact that I was genuinely moved. ‘You’ve just given me some advice that makes sense, and isn’t designed to make me feel crap about myself.’

To my surprise, her eyes glazed with sorrow. ‘Is that what I do?’

‘Oh, Bee, you know it is.’ It felt like the right time to say it, but I kept my voice gentle. ‘It’s the way it’s always been.’

‘Oh god.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘I’m a terrible human being.’

Unsure whether to jokingly agree, or to offer some reassurance, I jumped when she snatched her hands away. ‘Just kidding,’ she said, but there was a telltale wobble in her voice. ‘I suppose a therapist would say I have issues.’

‘Probably.’

‘Too late to say sorry and start over, I suppose?’ Her face blurred in a haze of tears.

‘Never.’

She reached for my hand. ‘I’m sorry, Tilly.’