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I pushed back my shoulders. ‘Yes, actually. How did you know?’

He shook his head with a small shiver. ‘Just an inkling. See you around, Posh Spice.’

I rolled my eyes and left him on the platform. I knew exactly what he meant. Bearsden was the most affluent part of Glasgow, and with my designer bag, fur coat and fancy jewellery, it was a fair assumption I’d grown up there – but he couldn’t have been further from the truth.

I headed to the taxi rank outside the station. ‘Can you take me to the Gorbals, please?’

The ten-minute journey felt short and long at the same time. Home. My arsehole was twitching, maybe from nerves or the unwanted thumb up it the night before. Was that really only last night? Something inside me knew this was a bad idea. I thought about excuses for arriving unannounced – I could say I was on a job in Glasgow and thought I’d pop by, or maybe I’d just say it was a surprise? But I wondered if they’d seen the news, even up here in Narnia. I kept in touch with my mum by text every other week, and once a year or so, she’d come down to London to visit. I loved those trips, loved spoiling her, I would even send her money into her bank account, and every time, without fail, I’d get it sent straight back. I knew what she was going back home to and wanted to help her, but I’d never imagined I’d have to come back myself.

‘Turn right here, please, and it’s the house on the left,’ I said.

‘Call it eight quid, darling,’ the taxi driver replied.

I handed over the money and stepped out. The cold was piercing. I looked up at my childhood home and noticed the condensation fogging up the window. Mum must be making dinner, I thought.

I walked up the path through the cramped council estate, just as two young girls passed me and burst out laughing.

‘What the fuck is she wearing?’ one said to the other.

‘Pure Love Island, man!’ the other added, and they erupted into yet more laughter.

Welcome home, Harriette, I thought.

I walked past the window and knocked on the front door. It felt strange, like I didn’t know if I should just walk in or wait to be greeted. I hadn’t been here in over a decade, and everything around me, the streets, the house, all seemed smaller than I remembered.

‘I’ll get it!’ I heard my dad’s voice drone from behind the door.

I could feel my heart bouncing around inside my chest.

The door opened slowly and my dad looked up at me – hair now balding, grey at the sides, gut larger than I remembered, dressed in a tartan fleece zip-up I was fairly sure he’d had since I was a child.

‘Can I help you, pal?’ he said.

My eyes watered. He didn’t recognise me.

‘Who is it, Harry?’ My mum appeared behind him, nudging him aside – and instantly her hands flew to her face.

‘Harri!’ she gasped, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around me tightly. ‘My wee darling! I’ve missed you!’ She turned back to my dad. ‘It’s our Harri!’

His face took a moment, then the largest grin appeared. ‘Harri! C’mon in, it’s fucking freezing out here!’

I started laughing through the snotty tears of it all, and we headed inside together.

The living room had been painted white – the big floral wallpaper I remembered was gone. Dad’s chair sat by the telly with a tray table, his dinner of square sausage and mash still warm on the plate, steam bouncing off the plate.

‘I didn’t even recognise you – I thought you were a fucking polar bear escaping from Glesga zoo with that coat on!’ My dad laughed and sat back down.

‘Naw, you didn’t recognise her because you’ve not been to see about your cataracts yet! I’ve been telling you for months!’ Mum snapped back.

‘It’s fine, Dad. I know it’s been a while.’ I felt guilt move through me like a current. He’d reached out so many times over the years, but I’d never really acknowledged him. Not having him around for those five years of my childhood meant, naturally, we weren’t as close as we might be, and I still hated the memories of what he’d put us through all of those years ago.

Mum rubbed my arms up and down. ‘What are you doing here, hen? Is everything OK?’

I opened my mouth, then paused. ‘Have you not . . . eh . . . have you seen my socials today?’

Mum tilted her head to the side. ‘Naw, hen. Big Sharon next door texted me to see if I went on earlier, right enough, but I was out at Lidl, so I’ve not had a minute. Did you post another recipe? I loved last week’s Christmas sandwich review, didn’t we love them, Harry?’

‘Aye we did. You know that Sharon’s a nosy bastard,’ Dad said, catching up, still shovelling his dinner in before it went cold. ‘You should take her off your page, Harri.’