"What's up, buttercup?" Miles annoyingly held out his hand and forced my lips into a fake smile. When I continued to glare at him from the corner of my eye, he moved away and sat back in the chair next to me. "Does this have anything to do with Nicholas?"

I huff loudly and turn the volume of the telly up. "Go away, Miles."

"Ah-ha," Miles shouts triumphantly over the noise of The Vicar of Dibley. "I knew it had something to do with him. If it's any consolation, he's moping around with a face like thunder too."

With a speed that I didn't know was humanly possible, I snapped my neck towards Miles and shot him a questioning look.

"We Whatsapp," Miles explained simply, taking the remote in his hand and putting the programme on mute. "And we just played footie together. So, tell your favourite brother all about it."

"First of all," I say, holding up the thumb of my left hand to indicate my opening argument. "You are not my favourite brother. Secondly, you're not really my brother at all. Thirdly, I don't want to talk about it."

Miles mimics my position, holding out the thumb of his right hand. "First of all, I technically am your brother. Secondly, saying that I'm not your favourite is very hurtful. Thirdly, until you talk, I will sing show tunes until the cows come home. So, what do you fancy first- Good Morning, Baltimore, or Tomorrow?"