‘It was my mum’s,’ said Tara, trying to work out how to describe Ruth in relation to Molly, before remembering they were no relation at all. She was the link here. ‘It’s from 1984, it’s very rare. And worth quite a lot of money,’ she added, as Molly’s small fingers explored the faded packaging. ‘So please don’t open it!’

The words came out sharply and Molly put it down.

‘If it’s so old, why is it still in the box?’

Keith was staring at them from the middle of the lawn.

‘Because … it’s worth more if it hasn’t been played with.’

Molly screwed up her nose. ‘That’s weird.’

Yes, thought Tara. If she was honest, the dolls made her feel sad: they were designed to be given lives by little girls exploring their imaginations, not trapped for ever in their boxes, elegant ankles bound with sandwich ties. What it said about her mum didn’t bear close examination. Any other psychotherapist would have a field day.

Out loud, she said, ‘It’s an antique. It’s about the same age as me.’

Molly stared at Masquerade Sindy, then at Tara, then back at the Sindy. Her mouth dropped open.

‘I’m thirty-three,’ said Tara. ‘I was joking.’

Lloyd saved them both from having to find an answer to that by barking at Keith, who was standing by the window. He’d abandoned the shopping in the middle of the lawn and seemed to be waiting for the right moment to interrupt.

Tara gestured for him to come in. Because … why not?

‘Tara, I was hoping to catch you!’ he said. ‘We found an excellent fishmonger, didn’t we, Molly? And I got rather carried away with the scallops.’

‘They’re my favourites,’ Molly informed her, counting on her fingers. ‘Then steak, then gumbo.’

‘Very grown-up taste you have,’ observed Tara.

‘Scallops were your favourites too,’ Keith added. ‘I seem to remember you eating twenty in one go up in Skye.’

‘Snap!’ said Molly, pointing at her.

Her hesitant smile undermined the precocity of her dining habits. If it had been someone else’s child, Tara would have laughed, charmed.

‘So,’ Keith went on, ‘then we found a very good deli – Longhampton’s really come up, hasn’t it? – and I thought I would cook them with some pea puree and some black pudding and some … um …’

‘Pancetta,’ Molly prompted him. ‘And pea shoots.’

‘Pea shoots and pancetta, yes. So would you like to join us? We’ll be eating about seven, in the garden.’ Keith smiled hopefully, and although Tara knew she was within her rights to tell him she’d rather eat her own toenails, it was very hard to do that in front of a child.

No, not hard. Basically awful.