‘Well, you’re here for this one, and we both have to do it. And it’s one of the rules of the house. You must be registered to vote and you must complete the census. Neither of us is exempt from our responsibilities.’

Tess feels like a small child who has just been given a telling-off without really understanding why.

After Georgia has left the room, wiping her hands on her apron, Tess realises she has no idea how long the cauliflower cheese is supposed to bake for, which means she also doesn’t know when the all-important crispbread sprinkling will need to happen, but it’s too late to ask the question. She’ll just have to make a guess and hope she doesn’t stuff it up completely. It feels like a milestone that matters.

Chapter 59

Early June 2011

It’s the failure of a small circle of rubber that’s the start of the problem.

Tess walks around the side of the house to the back door as usual, and is quite sure Baxter will be curled up in a warm spot somewhere, very possibly on the sofa beside Georgia. Her life is just starting to settle down a little and the new part-time job in the supermarket in Morningside, which Fiona had encouraged her to apply for, is going well. Much to her surprise, she’s enjoying the work and the weeks have flown by. She spends her hours organising the tins and packets so they sit with the labels facing forward on the shelves, or checking the dates on exotic cheeses and bottles of freshly squeezed orange juice and making sure those which need to be sold first are at the front. It all appeals to her sense of order, and for a few hours a day it stops Patrick from running around in her head all the time, taking up space to which he is no longer entitled.

Loud noises are coming from the kitchen, accompanied by some forthright language. Tess opens the door to find Georgia standing in the kitchen in her wellingtons, mop in hand. Towels have been rammed up against the cupboards, followed by rolled-up newspapers.

Tess can see a steady trickle of water dribbling down the scullery steps. ‘What on earth?’

‘We have a burst pipe. Or a cracked joint. Something like that.’

‘Have you turned the water off at the mains?’

Georgia points under the sink. ‘I can’t turn the stopcock, it’s too stiff.’

Tess picks her way across the kitchen, trying to avoid getting her sandals soaked, before giving in to the inevitable. More towels are spread across the stone floor at the far end of the scullery in an attempt to deal with the damage. She kneels down, feels the water seep immediately into her jeans at the knees, and grasps the red-painted wheel. ‘No wonder you can’t turn it off,’ she groans, ‘it won’t budge. Give me a tea towel or something.’