She ran until she was in a proper street not on a track, and then called the cab number her mother had made her save to her own phone, in case she was ever in trouble. She’d laughed at that. Not now.

There was a flash new Mini Cooper in the drive.

‘Hold on, I’ll get my dad.’ The taxi driver nodded but watched her go up the path, knock and then immediately ring the doorbell, having trusted her about the fare – but not altogether.

It was a long time. She rang and knocked again and eventually, as she danced from one foot to another, he came, socks but no shoes, open shirt, looking harassed.

‘Oli—'

‘Dad, I’m sorry but can you pay the taxi? I said you would, he’s waited.’

He glanced over his shoulder into the house, looked annoyed, looked worried.

‘Who is it? ' Her voice, inside somewhere. ‘Jeff?’

He came back up the path. ‘You’re taking a bit of a liberty, taxi here, taxi there, money doesn’t grow on trees, Olivia, and what are you doing dressed like that?’ He stopped himself, then, stood and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘It’s freezing, you should have a coat and boots, what’s wrong?’

She was shivering. She wanted to hold on to him, to hug him, but didn’t.

‘You’d better come in anyway. That taxi cost fourteen pounds.’

The house smelled oddly, of new carpet, wet clothing, and something like soup or gravy.

‘Jeff, what’s going on, I need you to – Oh.’

They stared at one another.

She was tiny, like a malevolent bird, Olivia thought, with long blonde hair tied back in a scrunchie, extremely small hands and feet and ears, legs like flower stalks in skinny black leggings. She was wearing earrings that changed from blue to green when she turned her head.

‘What are you doing here? Jeff, I need you to get the new box of nappies from the garage, I can’t carry it, only don’t bang the door and wake them, for Christ’s sake.’ But then she turned a smile on him like a sudden flash of sunlight, and Olivia saw very white teeth and a pink tongue that licked her lips briefly, like a cat. Her father looked at her, then at Madison, a strange, empty look, as if for a split second he had no idea who either of them was. Grey, Olivia thought, he looks grey, and weary. He had stains on his shirt and pouches under his eyes.

‘Do you want something, Oli, a cup of tea or . . . what have we got, Mads? I don’t know.’

His wife went to him, put her hands on his arms and raised herself up on tiptoe. Then she kissed him on the cheek, on the mouth, and smiled. ‘Jeff,’ she whispered, and it was a whisper like a hiss, ‘nappies.’