Is This It?

by Hannah Tovey

Genres: City Life; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

'Is This It? is a future classic'
DAISY BUCHANAN

'I wolfed it down in two days because I was totally hooked' HELLY ACTON

'The thirty-something heroine we all need' FREYA SAMPSON
________________________

-Employed (you have frequent nightmares about your job)
-Single and fabulous (swiping Tinder in your pyjamas while your best friend shops for engagement rings)
-Thriving (surviving)

Ivy and Mia have been best friends since the fun, messy, hungover years of their twenties.

Ten years later, Mia has it all - the man, the house, the career. Ivy is skint, single, and scared that she isn't a 'hot mess' any more - she's a walking disaster.

But one night, Ivy switches her phone off, peels last night's drunken pizza off the sofa, and makes a list. A list that changes everything . . .

The new Ivy has a proper job. She goes on fancy dates in wine bars. She's starting to think: maybe 'faking it till you make it' is easy?

But then she meets Scott.

Curly-haired, sarcastic Scott.

Sh*t.
________________________

Find out why everyone is falling in love with Ivy . . .

'I ABSOLUTELY BLOODY LOVED IS THIS IT? Hannah crafts characters with such life that at times I forgot I was reading at all' ABIGAIL MANN, author of The Lonely Fajita

'Fabulously funny with well-drawn characters and a protagonist who has you rooting for her throughout' GILLIAN HARVEY, author of Perfect On Paper

'Funny, flawed and achingly relatable . . . Tovey's writing is exquisite and I laughed till I cried' FREYA SAMPSON, author of The Last Library

'A true breath of fresh air: uplifting, relatable, inspiring, and laugh-out-loud funny' JACK JORDAN, author of Anything For Her

'I absolutely devoured this book! Ivy is such a relatable character. It's funny, it's sharp, and it's an absolute must read for this summer!' HOLLY MCCULLOCH, author of The Mix-Up

'Honest, gritty, surprising and confronting . . . there's an Ivy in all of us!' LAURA JANE WILLIAMS, author of Our Stop

'Raw, unapologetic and pretty damn relatable' HEAT

'Tovey hits that sweet spot of sharp dialogue and authentic characters that are well-rounded, real, and messy' ABIGAIL MANN, author of The Lonely Fajita

'Warm, witty, occasionally filthy, and full of heart' NICOLA MOSTYN, author of The Gods of Love

'Reminiscent of Laura and Tyler's escapades in Emma Jane Unsworth's Animals . . . gets into the nitty gritty of heartbreak' Netgalley reviewer

'Feel good and hilarious' Netgalley reviewer

'I could really empathise with . . . the struggles of not belonging and trying to survive London when life has not gone to plan' Netgalley reviewer

'A whirlwind of a read . . . Ivy's mum might be my favourite character, she's bonkers and I loved her!' Eleanor Reads Books

'Rich in dialogue . . . it's a novel about realising that sometimes your greatest enemy is yourself' Netgalley reviewer

Release date: July 22, 2021

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 368

Sample

Twenty-four wide-eyed children stared at me. It would have been twenty-five, but Nora had put her hand in the toaster and had to be taken to A&E.

Mr Reid clapped his hands.

‘Everybody, eyes and ears to me, please. I’d like to introduce you to Miss Edwards. She’ll be supporting us in class this week.’

Nobody spoke. I started to chip at my nail polish.

‘Come on, everyone!’ Mr Reid said. ‘That’s not the warm welcome we give our visitors.’

‘Good morning, Miss Edwards,’ they said, in unison. ‘Good morning,’ I said, ‘I’m so excited to be here.’

A hand shot up from the back of the room. It belonged to a small, rotund boy with curly jet-black hair.

‘Yes, Max?’

‘Why is she here?’

Good question, I thought.

‘Well, Max,’ Mr Reid said, ‘Miss Edwards wants to become a primary school teacher, so she’s come here this week to listen and learn from us. I want you all to be on your best behaviour, OK?’

Mr Reid resembled the older brother of my school friend Glyn, who used to sneak me cigarettes and let me listen to Alanis Morissette on his MP3 player. I thought this boded well for us. I put him at mid-forties, but his outfit made him look much older. He was wearing navy trousers with a matching waistcoat, and a navy and red striped tie. He also wore a waistcoat when he’d taken me on a tour of the school a couple of weeks ago, so waistcoats must be his thing. I made a mental note to get myself a thing.

‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ Mr Reid said.

‘Beside the children?’

‘Yes, this is an immersive experience. Observe, listen, ask questions.’

I nodded my head, hoping the enthusiasm would conceal my mounting anxiety.

‘Don’t be afraid to jump right in,’ he said.

Mr Reid directed me to the spare seat beside Max. I didn’t want to sit next to him – he clearly had it in for me with his aggressive line of questioning at the start of the class – but I was determined to show them that I was flexible, easy-going and approachable. As I found on most recent encounters with members of the opposite sex, I knew Max could sense my fear and desperation for him to love me. I put on a smile and took up the seat next to him. They all giggled as I struggled to fit my adult derrière in the world’s smallest chair.

They had a practice sheet in front of them where they had to link the fish to the penguin to equal the number ten. I looked at the paper, baffled. I looked down at my black jeans and saw a small stain from this morning’s cereal spillage. Maybe that’s why I could smell sour milk. I licked my finger and rubbed it off. I looked up and saw that they were all staring at me.

‘Does anyone want any help?’ I asked.

‘Can you count?’ Max said.

I hated Max.

‘You sound funny,’ another child said.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked him.

‘Bum Head.’

‘Is that your real name?’

‘No, it’s Joey.’

I hated Joey.

‘I’m from Wales,’ I said.

‘Whales are fish.’

‘They’re actually marine mammals.’

‘You’re a mammal!’

They found this hysterical. I did not.

‘No, Wales is a country,’ I said. ‘Within Great Britain.’

‘My daddy says Wales isn’t a real country.’

‘Your daddy is gravely mistaken.’

‘You said gravy!’

Another child pointed to the pin on my dress.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s the national flower of Wales. It was St David’s Day recently, and we like to wear this flower to mark the day.’

‘Why are you always talking about whales?’

I took a deep breath and focused my attention on the only girl who hadn’t laughed at me. She had a perfectly symmetrical bob and neatly cut fringe; she looked like Uma Thurman from Pulp Fiction, only without the class A drug habit. She was wearing a colourful beaded bracelet, and I asked her where she got such a pretty piece of jewellery from.

‘My boyfriend,’ she said.

‘Who’s your boyfriend?’

‘Joey.’

‘Wow, that’s kind of Joey,’ I said, looking at Bum Head.

Unbelievable that a four-year-old gets jewellery when the last thing I got off a man was a failed engagement. Oh no, wait, there was also the UTI.

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ she asked.

‘No, I don’t,’ I said.

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’

I looked at Mr Reid, who was at the opposite end of the room, helping another child.

‘I’m alone right now,’ I said. ‘It comes down to a variety of factors. I’m using this time to figure out what I want.’

She stared at me and scrunched her nose up.

‘How old are you?’

I paused. ‘I’m twenty-one.’

‘That’s old.’

Everyone laughed.

Thank God I didn’t tell them my real age.

‘Society might tell you that someone of my age should be in a romantic relationship, but we shouldn’t listen to such patriarchal expectations. It’s toxic.’

I looked up and saw Mr Reid standing by the table next to us. He gave me a curious look and I changed the subject.

‘So, does anyone have any pets? A puppy, rabbit, perhaps a small bird?’

One of the boys started crying. He had dinosaur stickers stuck to his jumper, shoes and glasses. His hands were trembling. I reached over to touch them, but he snatched them away.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him.

‘My hamster died.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

‘He was small and old and had hair on his face and was my best friend.’

The hamster sounded very familiar.

‘I lost my best friend, too,’ I said.

‘What was his name?’

‘Ivan, Ivan Thomas.’

Again, with the laughter.

‘OK then, we can call him Gramps, or Grandad,’ I said.

‘Why’s your best friend old?’

‘I have friends my own age – Mia and Dan.’

‘I’m bored.’

Brilliant, that’s just brilliant.

‘Why don’t we get back to our numbers?’ Mr Reid said.

I didn’t realise he was standing behind me. I smiled at him and he turned around and walked to another table. It might have been my overwhelming self-doubt, but he looked at me like I was wasting his time.

I took another deep breath and looked down at the worksheet. I started to give myself a little internal pep talk, but in the time it took me to tell myself to get a grip, a child had drawn all over my new white trainers with a permanent marker. It wasn’t the best start to the day, but, as D:Ream taught me, things can only get better.

Despite the shaky start, the next hour was rather enjoyable. I remembered basic arithmetic, and the girls warmed to me when I told them that Frozen II was one of the best films I’d ever seen. I’d never seen Frozen II, but I was in desperate need of some allies.

Things took a rapid downward turn just before lunch, when Mr Reid left the classroom for an emergency phone call. He asked me three times if I could handle the room for a couple of minutes. I said yes, of course I could.

The speed of it was extraordinary. Within sixty seconds, someone had got out a pair of scissors and was stabbing the desk like Chucky, but with better-conditioned hair. Another child had pulled out the stationery drawer and was hurling the contents across the room – I caught the ruler seconds before it hit a girl in the eye. In the corner of the room was Max, sitting on someone’s head. The same child who drew on my shoe was now drawing on the wall. I begged her to hand the marker over to me. She looked at me with sheer disdain and hurled it across the room in protest. I wanted to hurl her across the room in protest, but we can’t always get what we want.

I knew it was important to put on a cheery face and keep the positivity flowing, so that’s what I did, but that was before I realised that I had snot all over my hand – and it wasn’t my own. I contemplated getting my bag and running out the room. This was my chance to prove I could do this. I was supposed to be a grown up, or at least do a good impression of one. It had to work.

‘How did you find your first day?’ Mr Reid asked, after the last child had left.

‘I’m so sorry about the mess when you came back in. It all happened so fast—’

‘The day’s not been without its challenges. But the children seemed to enjoy having you here.’

Ah, so that was why they turned into psychopathic killers. It was because they liked me.

‘I want to go through your feedback. But first, I must ask you, why do you want to become a primary school teacher?’

I was about to open my mouth when Joey ran back into the classroom; he’d left his hat on the table.

‘Miss Edwards?’ he said. ‘Are you going to be our teacher?’

I looked to Mr Reid for reassurance. He was avoiding eye contact.

‘Hopefully I can be someone’s teacher one day,’ I said. ‘I need to go through some training first.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you can’t become a teacher overnight,’ I said. ‘You need the right skills.’

‘Like football skills?’

‘No, like patience and listening and an understanding of the pedagogical approaches to early learning and development,’ Mr Reid explained.

Joey looked as confused as I was.

‘But what about football, Miss? Can you play?’

He really wasn’t getting this.

‘No, I can’t play,’ I said, woefully.

‘That’s a shame, I thought we could be friends.’

‘I’d like to be your friend.’

He pondered this for a moment.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I like the noise you make when you laugh. And your hair is long and the same colour as chocolate, like Mummy’s.’

I felt my heart break a little.

‘That’s very kind,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

He ran towards me and hugged my leg.

‘See ya, Miss,’ he said, running out of the room.

I looked to Mr Reid.

‘That question you asked me? That’s why.’

I was late for dinner. I found Mia in the back of the restaurant wearing a crown. I rolled my eyes and sat down.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said, ‘I stole it from the prop cupboard at the theatre. Along with this very chic scarf.’

She dove into her handbag and brought out a hideous fur shawl with a fox tail a mile long.

‘It’s a bit gauche,’ I said.

‘Ives, it’s been dead for years. This is his moment to shine.’

She tossed the shawl over her shoulders and sat back in the seat. A few people in the restaurant were watching her now, which is generally what happens when we go out. It’s not because she gets recognised as an actress; she’s just so enigmatic – like some sort of mythical creature that none of us understand but want to be around all the time.

‘I can’t be late tonight,’ I said, ‘I’m going to my sister’s for lunch tomorrow.’

‘What’s the big deal? It’s only Anna.’

‘She’s being weird about it.’

‘You look worn-out. Was this week that bad?’

‘I found myself standing at the front of the classroom, looking out to the room as if I was watching someone set fire to a house.’

‘You wanted to know what it was like to work in a real classroom. Well, now you know.’

‘I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.’

‘Of course you are, Ivy. You can do anything.’

‘There’s a lot more to consider than I thought.’

‘Like what?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said.

I didn’t want to let on that I had just been told I didn’t have the experience or skills to do the training scheme I wanted to do, and my vision of what next year might look like had been shattered by a man who seemed bored with my very existence.

‘What was the teacher like?’ Mia asked.

‘He seemed to warm to me as the week went on, but—’

‘Playing hard to get, was he?’

‘Did I tell you he dressed like a seventeenth-century aristocrat?’

‘He sounds hot.’

‘He’s not hot. He’s, like, fifty.’

‘Maybe you should broaden your horizons. You’re not having much luck with people your own age, are you?’

‘I’m having no more than three medium glasses of wine tonight,’ I said.

‘I thought we could go out with Dan.’

‘No, I can’t go “out out”.’

‘Nobody mentioned “out out”.’

‘This is you and Dan we’re talking about; there’s no other form of social occasion.’

Mia sat back in her chair and crossed her arms like a petulant child.

‘Would you stop being so boring,’ she said. ‘You’ve not even started your teacher training yet.’

‘I’m not boring. I’m refocusing. Besides, I need to start saving.’

‘Are you back at the museum on Monday?’

‘Yup, back to the gift shop.’

I’d applied for the job at the children’s museum in the hope that I’d be able to engage with local young people, find out what’s important to them. So far all I’d done is sell Jellycat toys and clean broken breadsticks off the floor.

She took my hand from across the table.

‘It’s a job, Ivy – a means to an end. Remember when I had to dress as a giant avocado to promote that new smoothie place?’

‘And what a glorious avocado you were.’

‘Come on, a little dance would perk us right up.’

‘I don’t need perking up. I need sleep.’

She clasped my hand tight. She was like my mother, so beautiful and manipulative – and exasperating.

‘Fine, let’s go out,’ I said. ‘But I want to be in bed by midnight.’

‘In bed by midnight or in an Uber by midnight?’

‘Mia!’

‘Calm down. I’ll call Dan.’

Dan’s an enigma; one minute he’s flush with cash, spending five grand on a week in a luxury villa in Ibiza, and the next he’s flat-out broke, worrying how he’ll make next month’s rent. Officially, he works in ‘restaurant PR’ (which is ironic, because nobody has ever seen him eat), but we don’t ask in case it’s illegal and, knowing Dan, it probably is.

Later that evening, we met him at a cocktail bar near Angel Tube. He was propped up on a stool with a Martini in hand, wearing a black V-neck T-shirt with a glitter skull emblazoned on the front. He hadn’t noticed us, so I walked over and gave him a hug from behind, accidentally spilling his drink.

‘Ivy! You little shit. You’ve wasted eighteen pounds’ worth of vodka.’

‘Don’t lie; I know you only come here because they’re two-for-one.’

‘I’ve missed you girls!’

‘That T-shirt is loud,’ Mia said.

‘Mia, you look like you’re auditioning for RuPaul’s Drag Race,’ Dan said. ‘This is Alexander McQueen, thank you very much.’

‘How posh.’

‘It’s a knock-off from Camden Market,’ he said, erupting in his distinctive cackle. ‘God, I’m glad to see you both. Alejandro is doing my head in.’

‘Why are you still with him?’ I asked.

‘I’ve told you this, Ivy. He’s very intelligent and has an immaculate penis.’

‘Noah also has an immaculate penis,’ Mia mused. ‘It’s so important to choose a life partner with attractive genitals.’

‘New dress, Ivy?’ Dan asked as we sat down.

‘It’s one of Anna’s. I’ve stolen all her pre-pregnancy wardrobe.’

‘Nice to see you’re finally making an effort, even if it is all second-hand.’

‘Fuck off. I’m trying.’

‘How’s the yoga going?’ Mia asked me.

‘I don’t think I’m doing it right.’

‘It’s not about doing it right,’ Mia said. ‘It’s about connecting with your inner self, achieving a peaceful body and mind – and, most importantly, getting impeccably toned arms like Jennifer Aniston.’

I splayed my arms out. ‘What do we think?’

‘Perfection.’

I laughed.

‘Look at you, transforming your life,’ Dan said. ‘This time last year, you’d have been doing coke with some stranger in a bathroom, mascara running down your cheeks, lamenting that posh twat Jamie.’

‘Shut up and order me a wine, please,’ I said.

‘Any preference on colour or size?’

‘White. Large.’

The barman served me three tequila shots. I necked one before asking him for three double vodka sodas. Mia had dragged us to a karaoke bar, and I was flagging.

A man nudged in next to me. He looked down at the shots, then up at me.

‘Long week?’ he said.

He was wearing black jeans, but not the skinny sort that all the boys in East London wear. And his shirt didn’t look like it came from a charity shop. He’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, revealing lovely toned forearms. I’ve said it before: you can tell a lot about a man from their forearms.

‘They’re not all for me,’ I said. ‘My friends are doing karaoke.’

‘So are mine. I’m trying to escape.’

I liked his hair. Thick, soft, not too styled.

‘Not a lover of karaoke?’ I said.

‘No, not at all. You?’

‘No, especially considering I’ve just paid twenty pounds to sit in a darkened room and watch my friend sing power ballads for two hours.’

He laughed. A sniffly young man stumbled into us as he made his way to the toilet to do his next line.

‘Why is this place full of nineteen-year-olds?’ he said to me. ‘And why aren’t they wearing socks? If you’re going to wear proper shoes, wear proper socks.’

‘Wow, I’ve never heard someone be so passionate about socks before.’

He smiled.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Ivy.’

‘Hi, I’m Scott.’

He put his hand out to shake mine. Soft hands. Like his hair.

‘Nice to meet you, Ivy.’

I liked the way he said my name.

‘You have a very sing-song accent,’ he said.

I tried to remain calm as I realised he might actually be flirting with me.

‘Diolch yn fawr iwan.’

‘Impressive.’

‘That’s the only Welsh I know,’ I said. ‘Well, that and tractor.’

‘What’s tractor in Welsh?’

‘Tractor.’

His face creased up and I thought about what it would feel like to kiss him.

‘Where are you from in Wales?’

‘We live near the Gower. Do you know it?’

‘No, but I was conceived in Wales.’

I laughed.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why I told you that.’

‘No, thank you. I like to know where people were conceived.’

His face gave the impression that he was listening to every single word. It was unsettling.

The barman brought my drinks over and Scott ordered four pints.

‘What do you do?’ he asked.

‘I’m a teacher.’

‘Ah, my uncle’s a teacher.’

‘How about you?’ I asked, before he had the chance to see right through me.

‘I work in advertising.’

‘That’s cool. Anything I might have seen?’

‘Last year’s Christmas advert … It was with an international female singer who I can’t name for legal reasons. There were mint chocolates involved.’

It took me a few seconds before I realised who he was referring to.

‘Oh my God, yes! I loved that advert.’

‘I’m glad someone did. It cost me my soul.’

‘Was it that bad?’

‘Yes, Ivy. It was that bad.’

We stood there for a moment. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. He had such delicious dimples.

‘Sorry, I should let you get back to your friends,’ he said.

‘Yes, she’s probably halfway through the Celine Dion catalogue; I couldn’t possibly miss out on the rest.’

He scanned my face.

‘You’ve got a cracking smile, Ivy.’

‘Cracking?’

‘Yes. What’s so funny?’

‘Nothing, it’s just … “cracking” is a very Welsh thing to say.’

‘Is it? My gran used to say it all the time.’

‘Yeah, my grandad did too.’

‘Well, Ivy, it was nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’

I walked away feeling better than I’d done in months, which says a lot about recent times.

‘Where the fuck have you been?’ Dan asked. He was sprawled out on the sofa with Mia beside him, singing along to Bonnie Tyler.

‘I was at the bar. There was a man.’

‘Oh, a man!’

‘He looked a bit like Hugh Grant in the nineties.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you get his number?’

‘No.’

‘What the fuck is wrong with you? You haven’t had sex since two thousand and one.’

‘Take the bull by the china,’ Mia said. She had finally stopped singing and was twirling the microphone lead in her hand.

‘What?’ I said.

‘The bull by the china … it’s an expression.’

‘Take the bull by the horn is the expression, Mia. Bull in a china shop is something entirely different.’

Mia looked like I’d asked her to explain quantum theory. Journey came on. Dan grabbed my arm and walked me out of the room and back to the bar, where I saw Scott, still waiting for his pints.

‘Is that him?’ Dan asked.

I nodded.

Dan touched him on the shoulder.

‘Scott, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hi.’

‘Hi. You OK?’ Scott asked.

‘Yes, Ivy here would like to give you her number.’

‘Is that right, Ivy?’ Scott said.

‘I figured it would be good to find out where the rest of your family members were conceived.’

His face broke out in an enormous grin. We locked eyes as he got his phone out and asked me to type my number in.

‘Grand, Ivy. I’ll text you.’

‘Great. Have a good night.’

‘You too.’

I was elated. Maybe I would be having sex this decade.

Dan and I sat in the corner of our private karaoke booth as Mia got started on the Dreamgirls soundtrack. We’d finished the vodkas and were now on to our second bottle of Prosecco, most of the contents of which were spilt all over the burgundy faux leather sofas.

Dan asked me to lay my head in his lap.

‘I want to connect with you, Ivy. Tell me everything.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘I want to know about you,’ he said, prodding me with his finger. ‘What’s going on with you?’

I was drunk enough that all my insecurities were bubbling just under the surface, as they always are at 1 a.m. in a karaoke booth.

‘What if this is a mistake?’ I said.

‘What is?’

‘Me, trying to be a primary school teacher. What if Dilys is right?’

‘Dilys?’

‘You know, the voice in my head.’

‘She’s a fictional construct, you twat.’

‘I named her after a girl I knew from school. Did you know Dilys means “genuine” in Welsh? Which is ironic, because the Dilys I knew was a two-faced backstabber who stole my boyfriend in Year Nine.’

I got up to get some more Prosecco, than lay back down in his lap.

‘She speaks to me when nobody else is around. It’s like she sees into my soul, Daniel.’

‘Babe, you’re talking about your brain in the third person. That’s the fucking issue here, not you changing careers.’

I looked to Mia for consolation, but she was busy gearing herself up for the high note of ‘And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going’.

‘What if the children hate me,’ I said.

‘Some of them will.’

‘What if the staff hate me.’

‘Some of them will. You can be really annoying sometimes.’

Still feeling the high from my first successful flirt in months, I got up from Dan’s lap, stood tall, and denounced Dilys.

‘I will not let Dilys get to me.’

‘Fuck Dilys.’

‘I deserve to be happy.’

‘You do.’

‘Yes, it’s taken me thirty-two years to figure out what I want to do with my life. Who fucking cares! I can reinvent myself every bloody year if I want to!’

‘You’re a warrior, Ivy!’ Mia shouted into the microphone. ‘Come on, get up here and say it with me.’

Dan and Mia helped me stand up on the sofa. We stood in a line, holding hands.

‘Repeat after me,’ Mia said, ‘you are brave.’

‘I am brave.’

‘You are powerful.’

‘I am powerful.’

‘You are a lion.’

I guzzled the last of my Prosecco and put the glass down.

‘I’m a fucking lion!’

We jumped up and down on the furnishings, then Dan went to get another round.

I looked at my phone: 1.47 a.m. There was a message from Anna at 11 p.m.: ‘Don’t be late tomorrow.’ I got back up on the sofa with Mia and started singing ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’.

I’d woken up after five hours’ sleep to the driest mouth in existence and ketchup smeared all over my pyjamas. After scrambling to get ready, I paid £2 to hire a bike and cycled as fast as I could to Anna’s. I almost fell off trying to take my jumper off mid-ride. It’s my own fault; Mam always says you should never wear wool on a hangover.

I knocked on the front door. I could hear feet shuffling at the other side of the doorway, alongside some whispers. I knocked again, and someone said ‘Shush!’, a little too loudly.

‘Anna?’ I said, knocking even louder this time. ‘It’s me. Can you let me in, please?’

I waited. Still, no answer.

‘Hello? It’s hotter than the sun out here! Open the bloody door!’

Suddenly, the door flew open and there was Anna, in a figure-hugging black dress revealing her big, beautiful baby bump.

She dragged me into the hallway.

‘You’re late.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You’re sweating.’

‘It’s unseasonably hot.’

‘This was all Mam’s idea, just go along with it.’

‘What? . . .