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‘Can you be a bit nicer to her, Jamie?’ I heard Mum say through the small crack between the doors.

My body went stiff and I felt my eyes bulge.

‘I am being nice,’ his deep voice replied, defensive.

I wanted to barge back in and shout, Naw, you fucking aren’t. But I knew I was no angel in this war we had brewing between us.

‘You could have fooled me!’ Ina called out to her son.

There was a pause. I leaned my head closer to the door.

‘She’s just . . .’ Jamie’s voice dropped. ‘She thinks she’s better than us. She’s got an attitude problem.’

I gasped. Fucking prick.

Ina tittered. ‘She sounds like someone I know, son,’ she huffed back.

‘Aye. Look in the mirror, Jamie!’ Mags added.

I heard footsteps approaching, so I sprinted across to the large tables banked up at the edge of the hall and began hauling them into the centre.

‘Do you need a hand with that, hen?’ Dad appeared, rubbing his wet hands up and down an apron that was about four sizes too small for him.

I laughed, glancing at my nails and my already bandaged finger. ‘I don’t want to chip them, so yes, please.’

Chapter Fifteen

Thirty minutes later, the hall was set up, and I stood back admiring my work like a chronically underpaid wedding planner. The chairs sat in perfectly symmetrical rows. I’d turned on the Christmas tree lights and straightened the tinsel hanging from the walls. I’d added plastic flowers with small baubles – which I found hiding in a dusty box at the back of a cupboard – to the middle of every table. My tea and coffee station was ready to serve what looked like the entire population of Glasgow, with two gigantic urns the size of gas tanks.

The kitchen staff were in charge of dishing out the food while I served the drinks. I felt oddly anxious waiting for the doors to open, which was ridiculous. I’d made tea and coffee before, obviously. I wasn’t feral. But never for sixty-odd people.

I stared at the stack of chunky white mugs like I was about to sit an exam.

‘For fuck sake, will you just relax, Harri?’ Mum said. ‘You’re making me twitchy.’

‘What if I get the orders wrong?’ I sighed.

She tutted. ‘Then you start again.’ She gave me a look that suggested I might be the dumbest person she’d ever met.

Dad appeared beside me. ‘What if someone recognises me?’ I murmured, sensing Mum was getting a bit pissed off at me.

He shrugged. ‘Then they do. You can’t hide forever. And you’ve done fuck all wrong, sweetheart.’

Easy for him to say; he had no idea I’d been pumped by a rugby-playing Sky Sports presenter up against a tree, before my marriage had actually ended.

The doors finally burst open, and a wave of cold air and wet coats flooded in. People poured into the hall as if it were a nightclub rather than a soup kitchen. Old couples. Young families. Kids were already sprinting about like they’d just downed twelve Red Bulls.

‘Strong, black, two sugars, love,’ a voice said. An elderly man stood in front of me. I gulped.

‘Right. Sure.’ I lifted a cup. ‘Sorry . . . tea or coffee?’

He blinked. ‘Tea’s fine.’

Excellent start, Harri. I poured from the urn, trying to disguise my nerves.

‘Do you want me to bring it to your—’

‘No table service,’ Jamie bellowed across the hall.