‘I’m not going,’ I call, trying to croak and failing.

The door opens and she gingerly creeps in, giving my quilt-covered body the once-over. ‘Are you still feeling ill?’ she asks.

‘Terrible,’ I mutter.

She hums thoughtfully, picking up my discarded jeans and folding them neatly. ‘I’m going shopping. Would you like to come?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, Livy, come on,’ she sighs. ‘You can help me pick a pineapple for George’s upside-down cake.’

‘You need help picking a pineapple?’

She huffs her frustration and pulls the quilt back, exposing my semi-naked body to her inquisitive eyes and the cool morning air of my bedroom. ‘Olivia Taylor, you are getting out of that bed and you’re coming to help me pick a pineapple for George’s upside-down cake. Get up!’

‘I’m ill.’ I try to retrieve my covers and fail. She looks determined, which means this is a sure losing situation for me.

‘I’m not stupid.’ She waves a wrinkled finger at me. ‘You need to snap out of this, right now! There’s nothing less attractive than a woman wallowing in self-pity, especially over a man. Screw him! Pick yourself up, dust yourself down, and bloody get on with it, my girl!’ She grabs my stunned body and physically hoofs me up from the bed. ‘Get that skinny arse showered. You’re coming shopping.’ She stomps out, slamming the door behind her, leaving me speechless and wide-eyed.

‘That was a little harsh,’ I say to absolutely no one, hearing her stomping feet taking the stairs. She’s never spoken to me like that in her life. But I’ve never given her reason to. It’s always me faffing around her, although I’m certainly not as brutal in my pep talks as she was just then. This is hilariously ironic. She’s the one who’s constantly nagged me about living a little. I did, and look where it’s got me. Still stunned and not daring to retreat to the safety of my bed, I walk cautiously across the landing to take a shower.

‘We’re going to Harrods to buy a pineapple?’ I ask, holding Nan’s elbow as we cross the road towards the grand, green-canopied building.

Nan raises her hand to a truck driving at us, halting it dead in its tracks, despite it having the right of way. I wave a thank you, while Nan continues across the road, tugging her shopping trolley behind her. ‘I might buy some double cream, too.’

I catch up with her and pull the door open. ‘Going to town, aren’t you?’ My eyebrows waggle suggestively, which she completely ignores, instead marching on in the direction of the food hall.

‘It’s a pineapple.’

‘That we could’ve bought from the local Tesco Express,’ I retort, goading her.

‘It wouldn’t be the same. Besides, the ones from here are perfectly formed and the skins are shiny.’

I’m trying to keep up with her, and everyone’s moving out of the way of the elderly, determined woman marching through the store pulling a shopping trolley behind her. ‘You’ll be cutting the skin off!’

‘It doesn’t matter. Here we are!’ She halts at the entrance of the food hall, and I watch as her shoulders rise and drop slowly on a satisfied sigh. ‘The meat counter!’ She’s off again. ‘Get a basket, Livy.’

I sag, exasperated, and reach for a shopping basket, then go and join her in front of the glass meat counter. ‘I thought you wanted a pineapple.’

‘I do. I’m just browsing.’

‘Browsing meat?’

‘Oh, my girl. This isn’t just meat.’

I follow her admiring stare to the perfectly displayed lumps of pork, beef and lamb. ‘What is it then?’

‘Well,’ her wrinkled brow furrows, ‘it’s posh meat.’

‘What, like well-spoken meat?’ I’m trying hard not to grin as I point to a steak. ‘Or did that cow shit in a toilet instead of a field?’

Nan gasps and swings infuriated eyes to me. ‘You can’t use that language in Harrods!’ Her eyes shoot around, checking if any attention is on us. It is. The old woman next to Nan is looking at me in disgust. ‘What’s got into you?’ Nan straightens her floppy hat and hits me with warning eyes.

I’m still fighting a grin. ‘Where are the pineapples?’

‘Over there.’ She points, and I follow her finger to another glass cabinet, formed in a square and showcasing the best-looking fruit I’ve ever seen. They’re only your standard fruits – apples, pears and suchlike, but they are the most beautiful apples and pears I’ve ever seen – so beautiful, my face is pushed up to the glass counter to check if they’re real. The colours are vivid and the skins polished. They literally look way too good to eat.

‘Oh, look at that pineapple!’ Nan sings, and I do. Her enthusiasm is warranted. It’s a stunning pineapple. ‘Oh, Livy.’

‘Nan, it’s too pretty to hack up and shove in a cake.’ I join her by the supermodel of pineapples. ‘And it’s fifteen quid!’ My palm slaps against my mouth, and Nan’s hand slaps my shoulder.

‘Will you shut up?’ she hisses. ‘I should’ve left you at home.’

‘Sorry, but fifteen pounds, Nan? Surely you’re not.’

‘Yes, I am.’ She straightens her shoulders and waves to get the attention of the server, her hand movements rivalling the Queen’s. ‘I would like a pineapple,’ she tells him, all posh and proper.

‘Yes, madam.’

I stare at her in disbelief. ‘Does being in Harrods Food Hall put a plum in your mouth?’

She flicks me a sideways glance. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’

I start laughing. ‘That. The voice. Come on, Nan!’

She leans in discreetly. ‘I do not have a plum in my mouth!’

I smile. ‘Yes you do. A huge, great big plum, and it’s making you sound like the Queen with respiratory problems.’

Nan’s beautiful pineapple is handed delicately over the counter and she takes it, gently placing it in the basket I’m holding.

‘Ooh, be gentle,’ I whisper, laughing to myself.

‘You’re not too old to lie over my knee,’ Nan threatens, increasing my laughter.

‘Would you like to do it here?’ I make my face serious. ‘You could polish my arse while you’re at it so I match your pretty pineapple.’ I snort on a suppressed laugh.

‘Shut up!’ she snaps. ‘And be careful with my pineapple!’

I’m at the point of doubling over as I watch Nan straighten her scowling face before turning back to the gentleman who served her. ‘Could you remind me where I might find the double cream?’

I start falling all over Harrods Food Hall in hysterics as I watch Nan’s hand movements and listen to her fake posh voice. Remind her? She’s never bought double cream from Harrods in her bloody life!

‘Certainly, madam.’ He directs us to the back of the hall where the fridges are stocked with posh dairy. Nan’s back straightens and she’s smiling and nodding politely at everyone we pass, while I titter, shake and hold my aching stomach from laughing too hard.

I’m still chuckling as I watch her read the back of every pot of cream on the shelf, humming to herself. She shouldn’t bother with the ingredients and should maybe pay more attention to the price. Deciding that I need to calm myself down before my nan swings at me, I start taking deep breaths as I wait for her to choose, but my shoulders won’t let up, and I can’t help my eyes from looking down at the perfect, shiny pineapple, reminding me of why I’m in stitches.

I jump when I feel hot breath in my ear and turn, still laughing until I see whose breath it is. ‘You look incredibly beautiful when you laugh,’ he says quietly.

I stop immediately and back up, but I should’ve stayed put because I’ve just bumped into Nan, causing her to huff some more and swing around. ‘What?’ she spits before she clocks my company. ‘Oh my . . .’

‘Hello.’ Miller closes the distance, getting way too close, and puts his hand out. ‘You must be Livy’s famous nan.’

I die on the spot. She’s going to lap this up good and proper. ‘Yes.’ She still sounds like she has a plum in her mouth. ‘And you’re Livy’s boss?’ she asks, placing her hand neatly in Miller’s, flicking me a questioning look.

‘I think you know that I’m not Olivia’s boss, Mrs . . .’

‘Taylor!’ she practically screeches, delighted that he’s confirmed her suspicions.

‘I’m Miller Hart. It’s a pleasure, Mrs Taylor.’ He kisses the back of her hand – he actually kisses the back of her bloody hand!

Nan giggles like a schoolgirl and now that my heart is over the shock, it starts a steady thump in my chest. He’s adorned in a three-piece grey suit, white shirt, and silver tie . . . in Harrods. ‘Shopping?’ I manage to breathe.

He regards me intently as he releases Nan’s wrinkled hand and holds up two suit bags. ‘I was just collecting some new suits and an enchanting laugh caught my attention.’

I ignore his compliment. ‘Because you don’t have enough suits?’ I ask, remembering the rows and rows of matching jackets, trousers and waistcoats lining the three walls of his wardrobe. I’ve never seen him in the same one twice.

‘You can never have enough suits, Livy.’

‘I agree!’ Nan trills. ‘It’s so refreshing to see a young man so well turned out. These youngsters who have jeans sagging around their arses, their underwear out for the world to see. I just don’t understand it.’

Miller’s slight amusement is clear. ‘I concur.’ He nods thoughtfully, flicking his eyes to mine while I consider how silly it sounds, referring to him as a young man. He is, but his persona hints to a much wiser, more lived-in man. He acts older than his years, even if he looks perfectly gorgeous at twenty-nine. ‘That’s a delicious-looking pineapple.’ He nods at the basket in my hand.

‘My thoughts exactly!’ Nan sings delightedly, agreeing with him again. ‘Worth every penny.’

‘It is,’ Miller replies. ‘The food here is sublime. You must try the caviar.’ He reaches out to a nearby shelf and takes a jar, showing it to Nan. ‘It’s exceptional.’

I can do nothing more than watch in shock as Nan has a good look at the jar, nodding her unknown agreement as they chat away in Harrods Food Hall. I want to curl up in a ball and hide.

‘So how are you and my lovely granddaughter acquainted?’

‘Lovely being the operative word, wouldn’t you agree?’ Miller asks, placing the jar back and tweaking it so the label is positioned just so. He doesn’t stop there. He runs his hand across each jar flanking the one he’s just placed, straightening them all up.

‘She’s a doll.’ Nan elbows me discreetly while Miller finishes up with the shelf display.

‘That she is.’ He gazes at me, and I feel my face heat under his intense stare. ‘She makes the best coffee in London.’

‘Do I?’ I blurt. The lying bastard. He’s on the charm offensive.

‘Yes; I was most disappointed when I dropped in today to find you’re off sick.’

My redness increases. ‘I’m feeling better.’

‘I’m glad. Your colleague isn’t as friendly as you.’ His words carry a double meaning. He’s playing games and it’s irritating the hell out of me. Friendly or easy? If Nan wasn’t here, I’d be asking that very question, but she is here and I need to remove her and myself from this painfully difficult situation.

I take her elbow. ‘We should get going, Nan.’

‘Should we?’