As far as Tara herself could make out, parking her car next to Keith’s Mercedes, The Swan was everything a boutique hotel was supposed to be; it was an elegant country house with a gravel turning circle, and a fragrant mass of climbing roses over the broad door, plus a five-star Tripadvisor rating discreetly posted in the stone porch.

Keith was in the lounge when she wandered in through the lobby. The physical shock of seeing him was lessening a little each time; not so much a shock now as a frisson of surprise at seeing something unfamiliar in a familiar setting, like a red London bus on Longhampton high street. He was chatting to a woman with a silver tray under her arm, a staff member, she assumed. Keith seemed relaxed, his arm extended over the back of the squashy velvet sofa, the other hand holding a crystal glass at a casual angle. The woman, a few years older than Tara, was glowing under the spotlight of his attention, laughing at whatever story he was telling her, pushing her short blonde hair behind her ear at regular intervals.

Tara watched from the door for a moment, soaking up the details of their interaction before they noticed her. Mum had always said Dad could charm the birds from the trees, which sounded to the young Tara like a nice thing. It had been a few years before she’d understood what Ruth meant, and by then a different picture of her dad had replaced her childhood memories. Then, after Ashley and her Corsa, Tara had noticed every waitress, every friend’s mother, every friend, on the infrequent occasions when he took her and Toby out as teens, watching like a hawk, just like her mum had. It didn’t make an already tense situation any easier.

Keith made the waitress laugh, and he smiled himself as he finished his drink. Now she looked closer, the interaction didn’t strike Tara as particularly flirty, just someone enjoying a pleasant chat with a stranger.

Or maybe he just likes talking to people, Tara thought.

Mum had tried her best not to let her own feelings colour their memories, not always successfully. She wasn’t a bitter woman, Tara knew now, just someone trying to protect her children from the same pain she’d suffered. Putting that aside was going to be hard, but Tara had to try. The problem was, how did she get to know her dad as he was now, without judging him for what he did then? The night before, lying awake with her brain going round and round in circles, Tara had even started preparing a list of questions to ask, then realized she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know whether he had a girlfriend, whether he’d married again. Whether he’d had more children. That question in particular gnawed at her. She wanted to know – and she didn’t.