My throat constricted with a surge of emotion and, by my side, Evie picked up her napkin and blew her nose. Mum and Dad’s love story never failed to move us.

‘A love like that doesn’t come along twice in a lifetime,’ he said firmly. ‘That would be too lucky.’

He was probably right; it hadn’t come along at all for me.

At eight thirty-two my phone buzzed into life, vibrating against my unused spoon. Harvey’s name flashed up on the screen.

‘It’s him,’ I said, my heart pounding. ‘He’ll have read my note by now.’

Evie scowled. ‘Don’t answer it.’

‘I’m not going to,’ I said shakily. I tried to picture his face. Would he be upset or angry? I wondered. Or maybe he hadn’t taken it seriously and thought I’d come back after I’d cooled down? Maybe he thought I was still in London at a friend’s, although, thanks to his jealousy, I hadn’t really made any friends. ‘I’ve said all there is to say in my letter.’

‘I’ve got plenty to say to him,’ Dad muttered. ‘Pass it here.’

‘No, Dad.’ I sent the call to voicemail. ‘I’ve dealt with it. And you speaking to him would only make things worse. Let him sleep on it tonight and he’ll calm down tomorrow.’

Which was about as likely as Eeyore winning the Grand National.

Dad harrumphed but let it go.

My phone screen lit up again: You have one new voicemail message.

We left the pub shortly afterwards and by the time I’d gone up for an early night a couple of hours later, the number of new voicemail messages stood at thirteen. I turned my phone off completely so it couldn’t disturb me with its angrily flashing screen. Something told me Harvey wasn’t taking the news very well at all.

Chapter 6

‘This is it, then,’ said Dad, giving us each a last hug and a whiskery kiss before climbing into the cab of his two-berth motorhome.

It was early on Tuesday morning, the three days I’d been back in Fernfield had flown by and already it was time for Dad to leave. He was dressed for his travels in shorts which he’d had for at least a decade and a straw trilby with a bent brim. His T-shirt was soft with age, but at least it didn’t have any holes; we had a pile of those in Evie’s garage bound for the tip. He started up the engine and raised a hand. ‘Take care of yourselves, girls.’

‘We will. Bye, Dad!’ I blew kisses from the pavement, trying to ignore the empty passenger seat next to him.

‘Remember to text us when you get to Dover,’ said Evie, wagging a finger at him.

‘Then again when you get to France,’ I added.