Of course it wasn’t perfect, but what arrangement was? Their familial set-up was a work-in-progress, she reasoned to herself in moments of doubt – a temporary solution until Sadie went to nursery, at which point Tom would return to freelance work. The firm he had been working for ad hoc on the project in Shoreditch was rolling out its operations and would be keen to have him back, they said, just as soon as he was ready. And by then, she would have worked her way back up the ladder, having regained the trust of her superiors. At that point she would be free to give Emsworth the two fingers he so royally deserved.

‘Too-wit too-woo,’ Tom had wolf-whistled when she walked into the kitchen that morning, where he was doling out slices of buttery toast to Sadie, Chet Baker flooding out from the stereo.

‘Look at how hot your mum is,’ he said, nudging Sadie with his elbow. ‘You can see why I put up with her, can’t you? Even if she’s going out on the razz again.’

She laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. To be honest, I’d actually rather not go. I’m bloody knackered.’

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘You have to be there. Anyway, there’s an episode of In The Night Garden we haven’t watched yet and I for one am extremely excited about it. You just never know what Igglepiggle will do next … Isn’t that right, Sadie?’

Sadie looked up at him, her expression wide with love, her chin shiny and smeared with crumbs, and when she and Tom caught each other’s eye, for a moment Gabriela didn’t want to leave.

‘I’ll call you later,’ she called out as the milk in the pan ran over, making a hissing noise as it hit the flame of the hob. Tom ran to the cooker, swearing under his breath as she leaned in to kiss their daughter on her head, dodging her greasy fingers as Sadie reached out to touch her, scared she would ruin the only dress she seemed to fit into these days.

An hour later, she pulled at the hemline, which felt shorter than usual as she made her way up the stairs towards the allotted room in the suitably archaic pub in town someone in the office had booked for the annual Christmas lunch. As she and Madeleine walked in, Gabriela spotted Emsworth engaged in conversation with a couple of senior faces she recognised from other departments.

Feeling Madeleine’s hand on her arm, she followed her beeline for the table, decked with garish tinsel and essential-range crackers.

Madeleine placed her hand on the chair next to the one with Serena’s coat hung over it. ‘You’re sitting there.’ She tugged Gabriela’s arm towards the chair on the other side of hers as their colleagues, already sloppy with drink, gathered around like scavengers in search of food.