‘I’m sorry,’ she said, red-faced. ‘I completely forgot to give you the wine menu. Can I get you anything to have with your meal?’

Keith looked over at Tara. ‘Tara? A small glass? I can get you a taxi home?’

She shook her head, and to her surprise, he said, ‘We’re fine, thank you. Maybe some sparkling water for the table?’ and handed the menu back.

‘Don’t abstain just because I’m driving,’ she said, choosing a bread roll carefully. ‘You can take politeness only so far.’

‘Ha! Actually, I don’t, these days.’

‘What?’ Tara didn’t mean it to sound so rude. ‘You don’t drink?’

Keith shook his head and pared some butter off the beautifully moulded Tudor rose pat. ‘I haven’t for a while now.’

‘How long?’

‘Ten years or so.’

Tara knew from work that the ‘or so’ was an affectation. It was probably ten years, two months and three days.

‘Why? What happened?’

He shrugged. ‘I just decided, one morning, that enough was enough. I needed to grow up. I had responsibilities.’

Tara stared at him. He’d had responsibilities thirty-two years ago and it hadn’t stopped him drinking two bottles of whisky every weekend, according to Mum. ‘Any responsibilities in particular?’

He paused, bread halfway to his mouth, and acknowledged her wounded expression with an apologetic shake of the head. ‘I hear what you’re saying. I’m sorry. Of course I had responsibilities to you and Toby. I should have grown up sooner. But it’s like they say, the moment finds you – I was—’

‘I don’t need to know the ins and outs.’ The words snapped out. ‘I mean … well done.’

Keith put the bread down carefully. ‘I had to take a couple of runs at it, but I’m happy with how things are now.’

‘Good,’ said Tara. It came out a bit tightly.

How would her mum react, hearing Dad was teetotal? A sharp pain went through Tara’s ribs because she’d never know the answer to that question.

She’d roll her eyes, interjected a voice in her head. And make a show of biting her lip, and then change the subject. It sounded like her mum’s voice. Her ‘Come on, don’t be gloomy, Tara’ voice.

‘You know, life has a way of offering you silver linings,’ Keith went on. ‘It’s a bit like the fireplace in the hall – that only came to light because of the floods, we’d never have found that if the floor hadn’t been taken up. And for me, I only met Sarah because we—’

‘No,’ said Tara. Her fork slipped from her hand and clattered to the plate, too loud in the quiet dining room.

‘Sorry?’

‘If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about …’ She stopped, conscious of how brattish that sounded. I don’t want to talk about anyone except you and me.