Jackie took off her coat and dropped it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“So, how was Paris?” Battersea Gran asked.

Jackie immediately felt the guilt well up from some hidden place in her subconscious and prickle at her cheeks. She turned and pretended to sift through some unopened letters on the table. “Fine.”

“That’s nice, then,” her mother-in-law replied, bending with a degree of effort to put the pot away in the cupboard below the sink.

Jackie brought herself under control. “Is Dan not here?”

“No, dear, he’s away at the minute.”

Jackie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘away’?”

“He’s in Scotland, dear,” Battersea Gran replied, pulling off her rubber gloves. “He went up there last night.”

“Scotland? What on earth is he doing in Scotland?”

“I’ve no idea. He just rang me on Sunday night and asked if I could come over and look after the kids because he had to go to Scotland.”

“But he doesn’t know anybody in Scotland.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, dear, but he must have gone up there for some good reason.” She cast a quick glance around the kitchen before walking through to the hallway.

“When is he going to be back?” Jackie called after her.

“Tomorrow, or maybe the next day. He wasn’t very sure.”

Letting out a sigh of incomprehension, Jackie leaned her bottom against the kitchen table and folded her arms. Battersea Gran came back into the kitchen, tucking in a scarf at the neck of her pink raincoat.

“Where are you going?” Jackie asked.

“Home, dear.” She took a pair of gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. “I’ve made a nice steak pie for the girls, and—”

“But you can’t go home yet,” Jackie cut in, her voice rising in agitation.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, what about tomorrow?”

“Well, you’re back from your travels now. You’ll surely be able to look after the place now.”

“But I can’t! I’ve got to go to work.”

Battersea Gran gave her a broad smile. “Oh, I’m sure you can phone in to say you’re going to be a little bit late.”

“Gran, I cannot afford to be late,” Jackie snapped at her. “This is probably the busiest time of the year for me. You simply cannot go.”

“Well, I’m very sorry, dear, but I am going.”

“But . . . what about the dogs?”

Battersea Gran eyed the two dogs, both of whom had skulked away to their baskets the moment that Jackie had raised her voice. “Ah, yes. I can see that they might be a bit of a problem. Well, never mind”— she reached up and gave Jackie a peck on the cheek— “I’m sure that you’ll be able to work something out.” She turned and made her way towards the door, only to have her exit blocked by Jackie.

“Please, Gran, you can’t go.”