How long had Molly been here? It had to be well over a week by now. That was shocking. How busy was Sarah that she couldn’t even text? How unfair was it for Molly to have two parents who put work before basic parenting?

Or had Keith forbidden her to call during ‘his’ time? Tara had dealt with divorcing couples like that. No one ever ‘won’, especially not the children. Poor Molly.

‘I think this Sindy is sad,’ Molly said to the doll, casketed in the box. ‘She’s even older than you and no one’s ever played with her.’

‘All fine!’ Lily appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘My mum! Honestly! She’s been running a shop by herself for years and she still needs me to talk her through the wifi! Right, Molly!’ She held out her hand. ‘What do you want to do this morning? Shall we make some more bracelets or would you like to learn how to knit? I brought my knit kit!’

‘Bracelets.’ Molly slid off the stool, but Tara couldn’t push her worry away so easily. What on earth was happening on that set that there was no time to call a child?

‘Call me if you need any supplies,’ she said to Lily. ‘I’m here all morning, working.’

‘Will do.’ Lily smiled. She seemed wholesome, friendly. Not the kind of teenage Jezebel who’d run off with someone’s father one Hallowe’en.

Although, Tara conceded with refocused hindsight, other people might reserve their scorn for the sleazy forty-something father of two who’d run off with a teenager. Who was Dad’s age at work – Douglas the osteopath? Lily and Douglas? She shuddered.

Molly was hovering by the doors that led out into the garden. Outside, Lloyd was already bouncing around, woofing energetically at the apple tree – from whose branches Tara suspected Sybil was hissing profanities.

‘It’s been nice chatting,’ said Tara. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

Molly smiled, then, as if she despaired of Tara ever asking, said, ‘Leo. I’m a Leo too, like Dad. August the seventh.’ And she turned and ran down the lawn after Lloyd.

The kitchen felt too quiet, now Molly had gone, and Tara flicked on the kettle to distract herself.

As it was boiling, she reached for her kitchen calendar to jot down Molly’s birthday for future reference and suddenly realized August the seventh was next Saturday.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tara finished her thousand-word essay – working title, ‘Things I Did in the Floods’ – just after two o’clock in the morning on Saturday.

She sat and stared at the screen of her laptop, glowing in the dark of the kitchen, and rubbed her itchy eyes.