The marble kitchen counter was a perfect backdrop for the citrine and sodalite collar, still in its original box, and Tara was so focused on capturing the intricate detail of the fastener that she didn’t hear the first three knocks on the window. The fourth knock – when Keith and Molly hammered in unison and Lloyd barked too – caught her attention.

‘Quick favour, if it’s OK?’ Keith hustled Molly and the dog inside; Molly hopped up on to the kitchen stool next to Tara, and Lloyd sniffed the air where Sybil had been, four seconds previously. ‘Lily’s coming to babysit Molly but she’s been held up, and I need to be in a meeting …’ He checked his watch. ‘Damn, now ten minutes ago. OK if Molly hangs out here till Lily rocks up?’

‘Lily?’

‘Lily McQueen,’ Molly informed her, swinging her legs. ‘She’s nice. She works at the bookshop. She has two mums, two dads, two older sisters and a little brother.’

Family details seemed to be critical to Molly.

‘I see.’ Tara glared over her head at her dad. He’d kept a slight distance since her outburst over supper. ‘I’m actually in the middle of something …’

‘So I see.’ Keith eyed up the necklace. ‘Is that your mother’s necklace? That was an anniversary present.’

Tara leaned on the counter in a half-hearted attempt to shield it. It hadn’t occurred to her that some of these pieces might have been gifts. Did that make a difference? ‘This is just a quick thing. I’ve taken the morning off to finish a job application …’

‘What for?’ asked Molly.

‘A job,’ said Tara, and Keith raised an eyebrow.

‘What kind of a job?’

‘A trapeze artist.’

He raised an eyebrow again but didn’t probe further. ‘Lily won’t be long, literally ten minutes. Let me know if you want a hand with your application …’ He mimed swinging from a trapeze but he was already strolling out – down the hall towards the front door, not back through the garden. ‘I’ll be back about two – have a think about what you’d like for tea, Molly!’ he added, with a ‘ring me’ gesture towards his ear.

And then the front door opened, and he was gone. Infuriatingly.

Tara turned back to see Molly running her finger along one of the textured amber beads.

‘Why don’t you wear this?’ she asked. ‘If it was your mum’s?’

‘Because it doesn’t suit me. My mum suited jewellery like that. She was very elegant. She used to wear white shirts, then something like that on top.’

‘What did she do?’

‘She was an interior designer. She said she had to look stylish for work, so people would trust her to make their houses stylish.’

Molly seemed to be processing this information carefully. ‘So what relation is your mum to me?’

‘None.’

‘But you’re my half-sister.’