She and Toby had never had a proper holiday with their dad after he walked out on them. Not one. A few weekends in London when they were teenagers – staying in hotels, which was pitched as fun and grown-up and cool, not weird and nomadic – but after that, nothing. On a couple of occasions there’d been an unexpected, too-generous cheque ‘for holiday money’ that she’d actually been too embarrassed to spend on the modest weeks away they’d had in the Lakes or Scotland (Toby sulking in his room, if he deigned to come). But that wasn’t the same as taking time off from his incredibly important job to be with his actual children.

Molly was different. Keith made time to see her. A bitter shiver of something cold and irrational whistled through her.

You are being ridiculous and unfair, Tara reminded herself. Jealous of a ten-year-old? Seriously?

Yes, she thought. Yes, I am.

‘I’ll be honest, this wasn’t planned – Molly was supposed to be staying with me next month for her summer holiday,’ Keith was explaining. ‘I’d booked Center Parcs but, um, there’s been a bit of a hiccup on the Sarah front …’

‘Really?’

Keith nodded, opened his mouth, but before he could speak, his expression abruptly shifted. ‘It turns out,’ he went on, his tone suddenly two pitches jollier, ‘that the film Sarah was working on in Dublin needs her back for reshoots, so she had to hop on a plane this afternoon and head over there.’

‘Wow,’ seethed Tara. ‘How glamorous.’

‘Yes, well, that’s the thing about Hollywood, as Sarah often tells me – it can be terribly unpredictable and demanding.’

‘I suppose she’s very used to unpredictable and demanding by now.’

Keith blinked and did a double take, as if he was suddenly seeing someone else in Tara’s place. ‘Fortunately, she’s a very understanding woman.’

Tara let that one go. ‘And how long will Molly be staying?’

‘Sarah wasn’t sure about dates. But what the heck – it’s the summer holidays, and Longhampton’s a lovely place, with lots to do …’ His eyes were trying to signal something. ‘It’s not a problem, is it?’

That was the final straw. Tara stared at him in disbelief. A problem? After twenty years, Dad had finally come back to spend time with her, to get to know her as an adult and maybe, eventually, when she’d tested him enough to start trusting him again, he’d get to know the confused child he’d abandoned. Hadn’t they almost reached that point?

But now, suddenly, there was another child. This child, though, he made time to see. He made time to co-parent. And he’d brought her here, to her house. To Mum’s house. What was wrong with him?

A rush of white noise in Tara’s ears drowned out any attempts at rational thought.

‘Tara?’