‘That’s really sad.’ There was a pause. ‘I wonder if that was because he was a Scorpio? That’s a bad match for Aquarius.’

Tara put her mug down. Where was Lily McQueen when you needed her?

‘Molly, I know astrology’s fun,’ she began, ‘but you’re not taking it too seriously, are you? I mean, it doesn’t mean people have to behave in certain ways. Or that certain things will definitely happen. We’re our own people, aren’t we? We decide who we are, and what we do. Not some silly planets.’

‘But it explains some things really well.’ Molly ran her finger along the vintage package of the Sindy-doll box. The thirty-year-old plastic crackled ominously beneath her touch. ‘Things that people don’t want to tell me.’

‘Oh, Molly, that’s … that’s what adults can be like, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’

‘No one tells me anything,’ she said quietly, and Tara felt a wrench in her heart, because the exact same words had come out of her own mouth when she was about Molly’s age. She’d whispered them into Branston’s long-suffering ears, and he’d grunted as if he was sympathizing.

Lloyd, Branston’s doppelgänger, lay sleeping in the warm pool of sun by the garden doors. His ears twitched at the sound of Molly’s voice. Tara was glad that Molly had Lloyd, at least. Lloyd couldn’t give her worse advice than Keith did.

‘So what star sign are you?’ Tara asked, because she sensed Molly was desperate to tell her.

‘Guess!’

‘Oh dear, I thought you might say that. Um …’ She pretended to think. Molly was ten, and she looked a young ten so presumably she’d had a birthday quite recently? She hadn’t mentioned a party or presents, though. It was the end of July now, so … Tara made a wild stab in the dark. May? What was May? Taurus or Gemini?

‘Well,’ she said solemnly, ‘you’re curious and articulate, and you’re always taking notes, and you have very sharp eyes for detail …’

Molly beamed, flattered at the small things Tara had noticed.

‘So, I’m going to say you’re a … Gemini?’

Her face fell. ‘No.’

‘Oh.’ Tara was surprised by how bad she felt. ‘I’m not as expert at this as you are. Can I have another guess?’

Molly nodded, but while Tara was struggling with dates and stereotypes, the doorbell rang.

‘Let me just see who that is,’ she said, getting up. ‘I’ll be right back. I’m still thinking!’

The person on the step was a young woman with brown Heidi plaits and a ‘Books are My Bag’ tote over one shoulder.

‘Hello,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I’m looking for Keith Hunter? I’m Lily, the babysitter. Have I got the right house …?’