Tara tried to strike a positive note. ‘Still, the council are moving ahead with repairs, aren’t they? It won’t be long before the house is signed off and you can move home. Maybe Rhys will—’

‘No.’ Sian stared straight at her. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Tara, Rhys has always set fire to things. It’s what he does. Gareth – my husband – he used to be able to talk some sense into him, but to be honest, he’s not dealing with this well at all.’

‘No?’

‘He’s drinking again. And – I’ll put my hands up – I’m not at my most patient right now. We’re not setting the kids a good example,’ she added with a mournful frown, and folded her hands protectively over her stomach. Sian was six months pregnant but every time Tara saw her, she seemed ten minutes away from going into labour.

‘If Gar could just get back to playing his drums again, I think it would help,’ Sian went on, ‘but the arsey bitch next door to us in the council place wouldn’t let him even set them up. I told the housing officer, he needs a release, he does.’ She bunched up her lips. ‘Otherwise he finds other stuff to wallop.’

‘But in the meantime …?’

‘Meant to be speaking to the housing officer again this afternoon.’ Sian’s face darkened. ‘I just want somewhere I can relax.’

‘I know what you mean. Right!’ said Tara, with some effort. ‘Let’s break this down into manageable chunks, shall we?’

After dealing with three of Sian’s manageable chunks and referring her to specialists for the rest, Tara had been looking forward to a lunchtime power nap on her sofa, but David knocked at ten to one, and once she’d unloaded about the Bannons and he’d agreed to see Rhys, it felt only polite to agree to join him ‘for some fresh air’ in the park.

Outside, the summer air was soft on her face, and the sensation of striding out in time with David eased Tara’s thoughts away from the office. The only fly in the ointment was the circular David-Sybil-Phil niggle in her mind, but fortunately David spent the first ten minutes talking earnestly about transference theories, until he sensed she’d tuned him out.

‘I see your dad was in the paper this week,’ he said, as they marched past the newsagent’s. The Gazette board outside declared ‘Work Begins on Hall Rebuild’, which was something of an understatement, given the speed of operation now Keith’s team were in charge.

‘Chloe?’ No client had passed the threshold without Chloe showing them that week’s Gazette. ‘She might not have mentioned it to you, but that was her mum, you know – with the spade?’

‘Everyone had spades, as far as I could see. And hard hats.’