Chapter 1

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There are some places where you might expect to bump into your boyfriend’s ultra-posh mother.

At a Buckingham Palace garden party perhaps, or Glyndebourne, or turning her nose up at Ferrero Rochers at some foreign ambassador’s cocktail party. And then there are other places you wouldn’t expect to bump into her at all.

Like, for example, the Cod Almighty at the dodgier end of Tooting High Street.

‘Blimey, it’s Dougie’s mum.’ Instinctively wiping her hands on her green nylon overall and curbing the urge to curtsey – because Dougie’s mum was that posh – Lola said brightly, ‘Hello, Mrs Tennant, how lovely to see you!’

And how typical that she should turn up two minutes before closing, when all they had left to offer her was a tired-looking saveloy and a couple of overlooked fishcakes. Maybe Alf could be persuaded to quickly chuck a couple of fresh pieces of haddock into the fryer and—

‘Hello, Lola. I wondered if we could have a chat.’ Even for a visit to a fish and chip shop, Dougie’s mother’s make-up was immaculate, her hair swept into a Princess Michael of Kent chignon.

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