I almost don’t want to ask what, and I don’t need to because he draws breath to go on, obviously seeing my hesitance. He’s going to tell me, whether I want to hear or not.

‘Your body instinctively knows danger. If you feel the hair on the back of your neck rise, a prickly sensation between your shoulder blades, or just overall bad vibes – you run.’ The window starts closing and William’s serious face disappears from sight, leaving me still bent on the pavement with the lingering effect of those cold words.

Chapter Five

Nan slides the plate towards me and hands me a fork. The giant lump of cake makes my stomach turn, but I resist pushing it away and break a corner off while she watches. Nan’s eyes are not the only set studying me so closely. Gregory has joined us for supper, along with George, and they are all quiet and watching me as I bring a small piece of cake to my lips. It tastes like rat poison, and it has nothing to do with my grandmother’s baking skills. Everything tastes rancid, my taste buds probably punishing me for neglecting them.

‘Beautiful.’ Gregory breaks the uncomfortable silence, performing a little finger-licking session. ‘You should open a cake shop.’

‘Pah!’ Nan scoffs. ‘Perhaps twenty years ago.’ She laughs, turning to the sink and running the tap. I’m thankful for the let-up of scrutiny.

George’s chubby finger delves straight onto the side of the cake plate, scooping off some stray lemon drizzle, and as if Nan has sensed something untoward is going down, she swings around from the sink.

‘George!’ She whips at him with her dishcloth. ‘Where are your manners?’

‘Sorry, Josephine.’ He sits up like a naughty schoolboy and places his hands in his lap, his face straight.

Gregory kicks me under the table, nodding at Nan, and I look to see her shaking her head at the old boy. We’re both suppressing our laughs, and then George winks cheekily at us and we both lose the battle to restrain ourselves. We titter together, earning a reproachful look from Nan before she turns back to the sink, and another wink from George.

‘Are you ready to help Nan rock the ballroom, George?’ I ask, reining in my chuckles before I get a thorough telling off. Old George is looking most dapper in a brown suit, although his mustard tie is questionable.

‘Josephine needs no help to rock anything,’ he replies, looking over to my nan’s back. ‘She does a damn fine job of rocking, as you call it, all by herself.’ Nan doesn’t respond or turn around, but she’s smiling down into the sink, I know she is.

‘She’s going to show you how to bump and grind,’ I snigger, kicking Gregory under the table but quickly hauling my leg back when Nan swings around from the washing up, making her lovely dress swoosh like it most certainly will be on the dance floor later. She glares at me as she dries her hands on her apron, her grey eyebrows raised.

‘You look beautiful, Nan,’ I say.

Her scornful face drops in an instant and she glances down on a smile. ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’

‘Whatever is bumping and grinding?’ George asks, totally perplexed, looking to Nan. I’m delighting in the faint blush that rises in her cheeks.

‘It’s dancing, George.’ She flicks me a warning look, but it softens the moment she registers my mild grin. ‘I’ll teach you.’

I nearly fall off my chair when mental images of George and Nan getting down and dirty spring into my mind.

‘What’s so funny?’ George asks, throwing frowns around the kitchen. ‘I knew that.’ He huffs, plunging his finger back into the lemon cake in a strop. Nan doesn’t scorn him this time. She’s too busy howling across the kitchen.

‘I might wear my hot pants,’ she giggles, sending Gregory and me delirious with laughter.

‘Oh, those little short thingies?’ George’s eyes sparkle. ‘Yes, please!’

‘George!’ Nan shrieks.

‘Oh, please stop!’ Gregory grabs me for support, falling all over the place, taking me with him. We’re crying, shaking with hysterics. ‘Will they be sparkly?’

‘No, leather.’ She grins. ‘And crotchless.’

I choke on nothing, coughing all over the dinner table, and George looks like he’s about to have a seizure. He gathers himself and picks up his newspaper, using it to fan his face. ‘You have a wicked mind, Josephine Taylor.’

‘She does,’ Gregory chuckles, giving me a little wink.

Everyone pulls themselves together and I sigh, starting to poke at my cake again. Then I worry because I hear Nan draw breath – the long kind, the kind that means I’m not going to like what she says. ‘Why don’t you let Gregory take you out?’

I sink into my chair, feeling three sets of eyes all on me again. The misery returns, too.

‘Yeah, come on, Livy,’ my friend interjects, giving me a light knock on my arm with his fist. ‘We’ll go to a straight bar.’

‘See!’ Nan chirps. ‘How kind. He’s even willing to sacrifice a night of passion for your benefit.’

I gasp. Gregory laughs and George snorts. He loves Gregory, but he refuses to acknowledge his sexual preference. I think it’s an age thing, not that it bothers Gregory. In fact, he plays on it too much, and when he takes a deep inhale of air, I know immediately that he’s about to do just that.

‘Yes’ – he leans back in his chair – ‘I’ll pass up the opportunity to roll around with a naked, sweaty man if it means you’ll come out.’

I bite my lip, stopping myself from laughing out loud at the awkward fidgeting coming from George’s direction. Nan doesn’t, though. No, she’s in pieces, her body jiggling with laughter as George continues to shift and mutter under his breath.

‘You’re all wicked,’ he grumbles. ‘Wicked minds.’

‘How very good of you, Gregory.’ Nan titters. ‘Now that’s a good friend.’

George’s old face frowns at Gregory across the table. ‘I thought you were bisexual.’

‘Oh’ – Gregory grins – ‘I’ll be whatever they want me to be, George.’

Nan’s companion fails to prevent his disgusted snort and Nan fails to prevent her continued amusement.

This is good. The diversion in conversation to Gregory’s sexual antics has saved me from further pressure to go out and my struggle to appear fine. I study him for a few moments, watching his shoulders jump up and down as he continues to wind up poor George, and Nan eggs him on with hoots of glee. Their happy banter suddenly only seems to remind me that I’m not happy and no amount of pretending or distraction will remedy it. Things can divert me momentarily, but it soon returns, seeming more painful when it does, like it’s making up for its brief absence every time I break a smile.

My chews slow and so do my swallows. My turning stomach is fast, though, executing a spin that sends me dashing from the kitchen to the bathroom, where I retch over the toilet for no purpose at all. There’s nothing to bring up except acidy bile, making the taste in my mouth even worse.

Hopeless.

The soft knock at the door forces me to lift my head and look blankly at the wood. ‘Baby girl?’ Gregory pushes the door open and slips in, not bothering to warn me first in case I’m on the toilet. His handsome face tries to smile some ease into me but fails miserably. I know he feels as hopeless as I do. He pops a Polo mint past my lips and pulls me to my feet before brushing my hair from my face and scanning me worriedly.