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I nudge him in the ribs, still a little embarrassed a week on.

‘Of course there’s one person without whom none of this would have been possible.’ He stops and looks down from the stage at me. ‘Lydia, this award is for you. For being everything to me. For supporting me, loving me and putting up with me. I love you.’ He raises the BAFTA above his head towards me.

Around us there is a burst of spontaneous applause.

‘You old smoothie, Tom,’ says William.

‘So romantic,’ says Rosie.

‘We brought him up well,’ Barbara says smugly, linking her hand through Nigel’s arm. ‘More fizz, anyone? It’s not every day we have a BAFTA winner in our midst.’

Nigel opens another bottle of Piper Heidsieck and starts refilling the flutes around the room. Twenty of their friends and neighbours have gathered to celebrate Tom’s win.

Tom’s fingers tighten on mine. The irony is not lost on either of us. Relations with his parents have been strained until very recently – funnily enough, since around the time Tom’s film was longlisted. Our stock went up even more when it was nominated a month ago. After the awards were announced last week, it rose to stratospheric heights. Tonight Tom is very much top of the favourite child pile and William’s much vaunted board director position has been usurped by the award-winning film director title.

Barbara comes over with one of the neighbours. ‘Tom, this is Helga. Her daughter is at drama school.’

‘That’s nice,’ says Tom, his voice as dry as year-old dust. I discreetly nudge him.

‘She’d love to be in any of your future productions,’ gushes Helga.

‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ says Tom. I give his fingers an approving squeeze. He can be diplomatic when he wants to be. It’s taken a long time for him to let his parents back into his life and I know he’s done it for me, because having parents that care – even if they care too much about the wrong things – is better than having parents that don’t care at all. I’ve no idea where mine are and I’m not interested in finding out. My gran’s house is almost restored but I’m not moving back in. It feels like I’d be going backwards but I’m happy to see it plucked out of the mire of my parents’ custodianship. I’m going to sell it and Tom and I are going to find a place that’s ours.

Another neighbour comes over. ‘Well done, Tom. It must be so exciting making a film.’

‘Thank you,’ he says graciously, catching my eye.

The movie, which was filmed in one very long month last year, had been all-consuming, with Tom working long days and nights fretting about camera angles, continuity and budgets. Although seeing the final product makes it all worth it. He handed his notice in to BCHA the December after we’d taken part in Fleeing for your Life and moved into my flat. Ostensibly it was to save money, but the truth was we rarely spent a night apart so it was just common sense.

The reality TV pilot was a huge hit – especially the love story – which all the tabloids picked up on. I like to think Tom and I ‘made’ the series. The footage of me falling down the hillside – hurrah bloody hurrah – and Tom telling the crew to bugger off in the ambulance have both gone viral. We even get recognised in the street occasionally. It’s been quite a two years.

‘How much longer until we can escape?’ Tom whispers into my ear.

‘We can’t. You’re the star of the show,’ I tell him.

‘Nah. I’m not. Come on, I’ve had enough adulation. Let’s get out of here. I’ll go first. Come out to the car and meet me.’

‘You can’t leave your own party.’

‘Want to bet? I’m favourite child, they’ll forgive me.’ He winks. ‘Besides, you’re the only person I want to impress. Let’s go.’ He’s like a small boy on Christmas Eve – it’s quite a change from the man who could bring the portcullis down on his emotions so effectively.

We slip out to the car parked on the drive.

With the ignition switched on, Tom takes a moment before he puts the car in gear. ‘Shall we go and celebrate properly?’

‘What a good idea,’ I say, slipping off my heels. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what’s in the boot of the car?’ I give him an impish grin.

‘You don’t miss a bloody trick, do you?’

‘It’s a bit hard to miss an overnight bag and that my favourite knickers are missing, or that you’ve been fidgeting all night.’

‘You’re going to have to wait and see,’ he says mysteriously.

When we hit the M6 going north an hour and half later, I know exactly where we’re going.

It turns out Tom has booked a certain Airbnb – and this time we have the key code.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Matt for his encyclopaedic Star Wars knowledge and the unabridged quote about the best characters in the series. Personally, it’s still Hans Solo for me.

Especial thanks to all on Team Cassie, my editor Charlotte Ledger and everyone at One More Chapter, you’ve no idea how many people are involved behind the scenes to get a book out there, my agent Broo Doherty and my writing buddy squad – you know who you are.

Finally to you dear readers, I hope you enjoyed Hot Pursuit. I had a blast writing it.

Life is harder for some people than others and it isn’t always fair, there is no level playing field and this book is for everyone who copes with difficult circumstances and still turns up with a smile on their face.