Sunshine at the Comfort Food Cafe. Debbie Johnson

to life as he speaks, and so do his hands – he’s waving them around, gesturing at the ceiling, pointing into rooms, opening doors and gesticulating. He’s lost in his own imagination, and it seems to be a good place.

      ‘What about the office and the living quarters?’ I ask, as we approach the end of the hallway. I can still half imagine Mr and Mrs F in here, whiling away their nights singing Gilbert and Sullivan operettas to each other by the light of the silvery moon.

      ‘Not sure …’ he replies, frowning as he looks into the abandoned room. Its ‘life, interrupted’ vibe is still quite heavy, and I decide to tackle this part of the house next. ‘I don’t know if I’ll be staying, or just setting it all up and heading back to London.’

      ‘Ah. The irresistible allure of the kebab shops and tube stations?’

      ‘More the irresistible allure of what I’m used to, I suppose. It’s amazing how much solitude you can find in a place like London – literally millions of people, but not a single one interested in you at all. That’s what I’m used to.’

      ‘Well if you stay here for any length of time, you’ll need to get used to the opposite – literally dozens of people, and every single one of them fascinated by you. Talking of which, you should come to the café. I’m thinking tomorrow, after the lunch rush – by which I mean eight people eating ham toasties. Come along and meet everyone. It’ll happen sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.’

      He shuffles from foot to foot, rifling through the old paperbacks, nodding vaguely but not actually answering. It doesn’t take telepathic powers to realise he’s about as keen on that idea as having all his teeth removed without anaesthetic.

      ‘I’m not sure,’ he says, when I prompt him by poking him on the back of the head with a feather duster. ‘I mean … I couldn’t leave Rick alone for long, could I?’

      ‘Bring him with you,’ I reply, and immediately hold my hand up to stop his flood of objections. ‘And yes, I know what you said about him – and I believe you. I fully accept that his love for Bella might not translate to all his other doggy interactions. But it’ll be quiet, and the only other dog who’s likely to be there is Midgebo, Laura’s black lab. If Rick shows signs of wanting to eat him, he can stay outside – there’s a whole field for dogs, set up with water bowls and rest spots, like a canine crèche.’

      Tom doesn’t look convinced, and I don’t know why I’m insisting – I hate it when people try and get me to do things I don’t want to. I usually start speaking fake Japanese at them and pretending I don’t understand. But there’s just something about Tom that makes me think that if he broke through his own reluctance, and at least tried, then spending some time at the café with the Budbury massive would be good for him.

      I realise even as I think this how annoying it is – everyone who tries to get you to do something ‘for your own good’ always thinks they’re right, don’t they? Including me, apparently.

      ‘Look, you don’t have to – I get it. You’re happy out here in the woods, going all Grizzly Adams, enjoying your back to nature trip. But honestly? They’re all lovely. I’m probably the most repulsive and disgusting of them all – everyone else is way nicer than me.’

      He turns around to face me, and he’s grinning. Maybe – just maybe – changing his mind might not be out of the question.

      ‘I’ll think about it,’ he says. ‘As long as they’re not as repulsive and disgusting as you. I presume there will be cake?’

      ‘The most majestic cake found in this galaxy or any other.’

      ‘And there won’t be too many people? If I try and overload my geek brain with too many real people – as opposed to imaginary ones in fantasy novels – my head might explode. I’m too pretty for that to happen.’

      He says that mockingly, but he is handsome – just not in a way I suspect he’s ever really thought about. He’s all about the mind, this guy – but the mind is housed in a not-too-shabby package.

      ‘There won’t be too many real people, no. But … hey, I have an idea! Would it help if I made you a fact file? If you can keep all the different houses in Game of Thrones straight, I’m sure you can manage this. I could do you a round-up in advance, and you could … I don’t know, make yourself a spreadsheet or whatever it is people like you do to process information?’

      ‘Usually I just insert the memory card directly into my biological data portal.’

      ‘I’m not even going to ask where that is …’

      He winks at me in an exaggerated ‘Carry On’ fashion, which makes me laugh out loud.

      ‘But yes,’ he continues, looking slightly more serious. ‘Something like that probably would help me, a bit. I’d feel less like I was walking into a booby trap, and it might stop me doing this brilliantly cool thing I do where I stare at my own feet and walk into walls.’

      ‘That’s all right. We won’t mind if you do … but if you think it’ll help, I’ll do it tonight. I’ll just cancel that Ultimate Battle of the Hughs – Jackman vs Grant – and write an epic account of life in Budbury. Give me your email address before I leave.’

      I glance at my watch and see that I should actually be leaving pretty soon. It’s almost a thirty-mile round trip to get my mum from the day centre, and I have to help Laura cover the lunch shift at the café as well. The rock and roll never stops.

      ‘I need to be going soon,’ I say to Tom, who immediately nods and looks business-like again. ‘But before I leave, promise me one thing …’

      ‘Maybe. What is it?’ he frowns, looking a tiny bit suspicious.

      ‘You know you said one of the reasons you came here was to try and loosen up a bit?’

      ‘Ye-es …’

      ‘Well, I’m a bit of an expert in loosening up, and I have a task for you. Perhaps see me as your chilling-out doctor, and this as your first lesson in your free-spirit quest.’

      He narrows his eyes, and waits for me to continue, obviously not willing to commit himself until he hears what my first prescription is.

      ‘This afternoon, Mr Mulligan, I want you to go to the top floor of this house – and slide all the way down on the banisters.’

      He puffs out a quick breath, and shakes his head.

      ‘No way. I was never the kind of kid who did things like that.’

      ‘Well maybe,’ I say over my shoulder as I walk out of the room, ‘it’s about time you were!’