‘When did you last see her?’

‘Last night.’

Theresa glanced at Lola’s multicoloured fingers. ‘You were doing art this afternoon?’

‘It’s always art today.’ Lola let out a huge sigh which implied that Theresa was a fool. ‘Tomorrow afternoon it’s games.’

‘And you like games?’

‘No, I do not,’ Lola growled. ‘It’s cold and horrible, your legs go blue and you get covered in mud.’

‘I suppose the boys like games, though?’

Lola hunched her shoulders. ‘They like football.’

Theresa lobbed in a trick question: ‘Did Chloe’s boyfriend like football?’

Lola laughed and said ‘No’ in that querulous tone which implied that Theresa had made a ridiculous suggestion.

‘You don’t like her boyfriend?’

But Lola suddenly wised up to Theresa’s wiles and looked directly into her eyes to reply. ‘I don’t know anything about him,’ she said, defiant.

Theresa clapped her hands and rose from the end of the bed where she was perched. ‘Bath-time!’

‘It’s too early for a bath.’

‘Not when I’m in charge, Lola.’

Theresa went into the bathroom, turned on the radio and ran a bath, then marched Lola in. ‘I want you clean as a new pin. Fingernails included. After that I will cook you both a very lovely supper.’

‘Can we have chocolate tiffin?’

‘We’ll see.’

Once Lola was established in the bath, Theresa went back into the bedroom to quiz Cressida without the watchful and determined eye of her elder sister.

‘I bet you miss Chloe, don’t you?’ she asked, watching Cressida as she pulled out her pyjamas and laid them on the bed.

‘I want chocolate tiffin too,’ the youngest grandchild replied.

‘Of course. It’s important to share.’ Theresa picked up a book from Lola’s backpack and pretended to be interested in it. Idly turning the pages, focusing on them rather than her grandchild.

‘And do you like Chloe’s boyfriend?’

Cressida bit her lower lip and said nothing.

‘Does she meet him at school, or after school?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ replied Cressida. ‘He’s gone abroad.’

‘Abroad? Like me,’ said Theresa calmly, though her heart had started to thump. She recalled Chloe’s remark on the phone, asking about the South of France. ‘French Riviera,’ she said.

‘How do you know that?’ said Cressida. ‘No one is allowed to know.’

‘Chloe told me on the phone yesterday.’ Theresa dangled the bait. ‘He must be handsome, this young boy.’

Cressida looked at her warily. ‘You’re making a joke, aren’t you, Grandma?’

‘Of course. He’s not that handsome, is he?’

‘Of course not. He’s fat, and bald.’ Cressida pulled a face and added an afterthought. ‘And he’s not a young man. Actually he’s very old.’

Sally was in the middle of her worst nightmare. Or at least she wished it was only a nightmare, rather than real life.

Just when things were going swingingly in the kitchen, a huge gang of British tourists arrived demanding ‘nosh’. They were on a cruise, but, due to some technical disaster, the ship’s coach couldn’t come to pick them up for two more hours, so they had all decided to use the time here to take supper.