I’m in the park. I can see Dan in the distance and I head towards him, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. The sun’s shining, but there’s a cool breeze and I glance up at the sky when I think I feel a couple of raindrops. It’s only as I approach the bench that I see the man in the distance isn’t Dan at all – it’s Anthony.

I stop walking and the rain gets heavier, the wind rattling the leaves on the trees. Anthony is still coming towards me, but I’m frozen. He gets closer – he’s staring at me – and then just when he’s close enough that I think I’m going to have to speak to him, he just disappears. And I’m left standing in the park alone, soaking wet.

And then I wake up.

---

My stepdad, Tom, is already there when I get to the restaurant. He’s sitting over on the far side of the room in a booth, looking out of the window, and only looks up when I arrive at the end of the table. But as soon as he sees me, his face transforms into a huge smile and I smile right back. He stands up and leans on the table as I crane over to kiss him on his cheek. He smells like home.

‘You look gorgeous,’ he tells me, as I sit down and scooch until I’m opposite him. He comes to London once a month for work and he always takes me out to lunch. I love it. And not just for the free lunch. And because I work for him, he can write it off against tax, so we’re both happy. He likes this place because it’s just behind Oxford Circus, so it’s handy for both of us.

I smile. ‘Thank you.’ He always says that. Always has.

‘How are you? Any news?’

‘Good,’ I tell him. ‘Thanks.’ I pick up the menu. ‘I sort of met someone.’

‘Wow,’ he says, smiling at me over the top of his own menu. ‘Really?’

I nod, scanning down the sheet of white card. I’m starving. ‘Yeah. He’s really nice. We’ve been out a couple of times, so it’s very early days, but… yeah, it’s good.’

Tom puts his menu down. ‘Is it Henry?’

I drop mine and it slides under the table. ‘Shit!’

Tom turns his menu round to me. ‘No worries. I already know what I’m having.’

I shake my head. ‘No, it’s not Henry. Jeez. I’ve told you that we’re just friends. So many times!’

‘I know, I know.’ He shrugs. ‘I just like the two of you together. I think he’s good for you.’

‘He’s great,’ I agree. ‘But no. It’s not Henry.’

The waitress comes and takes our drinks order – we both get a Peroni – and once she’s gone, he says, ‘So tell me about him then. It is a “him”, right?’

I smile. ‘Yes, it’s a him.’

‘’Cos my second guess was going to be Freya.’

I grin. ‘His name’s Dan and he’s a trainee accountant.’

Tom raises one eyebrow at me.

‘I know. Shut up.’

‘I know I’m your hero,’ he says, brushing his forefinger over his eyebrow. ‘It’s very flattering…’

I laugh. He’s such an idiot. ‘Yes, all these years I’ve been looking for someone just like you and I finally found him.’

‘Hey,’ he says, fake-frowning. ‘You could do a lot worse.’

‘And my membership to hot-accountancy-dating-dot-com has finally paid for itself.’

‘Bloody hell. Do you think that’s a real site? Can you imagine?’ He grins. ‘I’m looking for someone to crunch my numbers…’

‘Oh my GOD!’ I cover my face with my hands.

‘And spread my sheets… This could work.’

I peer at him from between my fingers. ‘Please stop talking.’

The waitress arrives with our drinks – thank god – and we order our food: steak and fries for Tom and linguini with king prawns for me.

‘Oh, and can we get deep fried courgette to share?’ Tom says, smiling up at the waitress. ‘You’ll eat some, right?’ he asks me.

I nod. It’s more likely he’ll eat them all, but I know he feels better about getting them to share.

‘So,’ he says, once the waitress has gone. ‘His name’s Dan and he’s a trainee accountant. Is that all you’re going to give me?’

‘For now,’ I say. ‘Yeah.’ I know that whatever I say will go straight to Mum and it’s too early for her to start getting excited.

‘He’s nice to you?’

‘Of course,’ I tell him. ‘I wouldn’t have gone on more than one date if he wasn’t nice to me.’ This is not strictly true. Because Anthony wasn’t very nice to me and I went out with him for months. But Tom doesn’t need to know that. And I’ve learned from my mistakes. I hope.

‘That’s my girl,’ Tom says, smiling.

Warmth flutters in my chest. When Mum first told me about Tom, I didn’t know what to expect. I was fourteen, my dad had been gone for two years, and I’d heard Mum crying much more than I’d ever wanted to. She’d wait until after me and Matt were in bed, but the walls in the house were thin and I could always hear her, even if Matt slept through it. I knew she’d met someone before she even told me because not only did the crying stop, but she started singing around the house and just generally looked much happier and healthier.

Eventually, one night over dinner, she told me and Matt. She said she’d met someone she thought she might really like and she wanted us to meet him too. I remember me and Matt looking at each other across the table. He looked furious and tearful at the same time, but I was keen to meet him. I felt like Mum needed someone. Matt said she shouldn’t have needed anyone but us.

We met for the first time in a Harvester. He didn’t look at all like I expected – Dad is thin and dark and clean-shaven, I’ve never even seen him with stubble. Tom was bigger – both taller and more solid – with grey hair and a full beard. The first thing I thought was that he could make a good Father Christmas. He was kind and funny and clearly as into Mum as she was him. They started out sitting a couple of feet apart on the bench seat, but moved gradually closer until she was pressed up against his side. When I got up to go the buffet, I saw that his arm was curled around her waist. He made her laugh. He made me laugh. He even made Matt laugh, which was quite a challenge at the time.

On the way home in the car, Mum asked us what we thought. ‘He’s great,’ I’d said. ‘He’s all right,’ Matt had said. But Matt was the first to ask when we’d be seeing him again. Matt was the one to suggest he came with us when we made our traditional pre-Christmas pilgrimage to the garden centre – we always buy a new decoration and then get mince pies and hot chocolate in the cafe – and Matt ended up being best man at Mum and Tom’s wedding two years later. Now I can hardly remember what our family was like before he was a part of it. Mum jokes that I love him more than I love her. I don’t, of course, but I do love him a lot.

‘So any other news?’ he asks me.

I shake my head. ‘Not really. Shop is same as always. Everything’s fine at home – Adam and Celine are fighting even more than usual, but other than that… How about you? Mum OK?’

He nods and his face goes soft as it always does when he talks about Mum. They’re still as much in love as they ever were and it makes me so happy. ‘She’s great,’ he says. ‘You know she’s been working in that vintage store? She loves it.’

I nod. ‘She keeps sending me photos of different clothes she’s tried on.’

He laughs. ‘Bought, more like. I think she spends more than she earns, drives me mad.’

It doesn’t, of course. He loves it.

‘Did she show you the ridiculous peacock coat?’

I laugh. ‘No!’

‘It’s not actually a coat, or so she tells me. She says it’s a beach cover-up type of thing? I said to her “Where are you going to wear that? The Co-op?” And then she talked me into booking a week in Spain, just so she can show it off.’

‘Yeah?’ I say. ‘When’s that then?’

‘End of this month,’ he says. By the time he’s finished telling me about how they’re flying, where they’re staying, the various excursions and events they’ve got planned – Tom loves arranging holidays – our food has arrived.

‘Do you want some of mine?’ he asks me, already cutting off the end of his bloody steak, ready to drop it onto my plate.

‘No,’ I tell him. ‘I’m good, thanks. It looks good though.’

He pops the piece he cut off in his mouth, and smiles and gives me a thumbs-up as he chews.

‘Your mum misses you,’ he says, once he’s swallowed, and drunk some of his beer. ‘Are you going to get a chance to come home soon? Maybe after we get back from Spain.’ He puts his knife and fork down and beams at me, his eyes twinkling, ‘Or you could come with us!’

I laugh. ‘Thank you. But no. It’s your holiday.’

‘Your mum wouldn’t mind!’ he says. ‘She’d love it actually. Go on.’

I shake my head. She wouldn’t love it, I know she wouldn’t. She loves being alone with Tom, she really doesn’t want me around. I’ve felt a bit left out in the past because they love each other so much and they’re so self-contained that it’s a little bit hard to be around. But they give me hope. I know that a perfect, safe, warm love is real because they have it. I know they do.

‘If you change your mind…’ he says, waving some fork-speared steak at me. ‘Just give me a call.’

‘You’ve just finished telling me all your plans!’ I say.

He shrugs. ‘Plans can be changed. Have you had enough beer yet to give me a bit more gossip on your young man?’

I laugh and then finish the bottle. I put it down on the table and say, ‘No.’

‘But he’s good to you?’

‘Of course.’

‘And he makes your heart race?’

I twirl some linguine around my fork.

‘That’s always how I knew,’ Tom says without waiting for me to answer. ‘When I was a kid. And then with Janine. And of course with your mum, but you don’t want to hear about that.’

Janine was his first wife. She left him for her driving instructor, which he now finds hilarious and loves to tell people. And he and Janine are good friends now. Tom’s godfather to her kids.

‘You know, with some people it all feels right, but something’s missing. But if you have that palm-sweating, heart-racing feeling…’ He shakes his head. ‘You can’t mistake it.’

I stab a king prawn and stuff it in my mouth. Heart-racing and palm-sweating is fine. I’m sure it’s fine. I’m sure that’s what lots of people want. But it’s not what I want. I want to feel the way I felt in the dream and that wasn’t heart-racing, that was warm and safe and loved and secure. Palm-sweating and heart-racing doesn’t sound secure. It sounds terrifying.

‘So?’ he says. He’s finished his beer too now and is gesturing for the waitress. ‘He does, yes?’

‘He does,’ I lie.

---

Tom pays while I’m in the loo and we stand outside the restaurant, while he pats his pockets to make sure he’s got his keys, wallet and phone.

‘Do you need any money?’ he asks me.

I shake my head. ‘No. Thanks. I’m good.’

He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and opens it, flicking through the cash. ‘Take this.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. Keep it.’

He folds a few notes and pushes them into my hand. ‘Take it. If you don’t need it, use it on something nice. Take your new boy out to dinner.’

I smile at him. ‘Thank you.’

He smiles back. ‘No problem. Love ya.’

‘Love you too,’ I say.

He wraps his arms round me and I press my face against his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and rubbing my nose against his stubble. He’s always been a brilliant hugger – solid and soft and with just the right amount of squeezing.

‘Keep in touch,’ he says, letting me go and holding me at arms’ length. ‘And ring your mum. Oh shit! I promised I’d tell you to ring Matt. Mum thinks things aren’t great with Lydia.’

‘I’ve left messages,’ I say, even though I haven’t for ages.

‘I told her you would’ve done. You’re a good girl.’

So now I feel bad. ‘I’ll ring him,’ I say.

Tom pulls me to him again and drops a kiss on my forehead. ‘Later, tater.’

I laugh. He used to say that when I was younger, but hasn’t for years. ‘Later.’