‘I want to say … no?’ Keith’s eyes darted from side to side in the hesitant manner of someone unused to operating without a PA. ‘I’ve got a meeting at Perryfield on Friday but, ah … Saturday, no. Why?’ He brightened. ‘Are you planning something? A road trip?’

Tara’s shoulders dropped. He didn’t even realize why he was such a let-down. Despite the ‘new dad’ trips to buy party plates and gold forks, he still needed reminding about minor details like birthdays. She was surprised by how disappointed she felt. ‘You’ve forgotten it’s Molly’s birthday?’

Keith had the grace to look horrified. ‘I knew it was coming up, but …’ He wiped a hand over his face. ‘Well then, yes. I suppose a party’s in order, isn’t it?’

‘Isn’t that what you normally do?’

‘Parties are Sarah’s domain – she loves organizing parties. Always very elaborate, lots of balloons and whatnot. Calligraphy invitations, even for the kids. She’s done a course …’

Yet she can’t make time to text, thought Tara. What a pair.

‘So what’s happening this year? Is Sarah coming here? Are you going there?’ It dawned on Tara that they still hadn’t established exactly how long Molly was staying.

He looked evasive. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’

‘Well, can you find out? It’s Molly’s birthday!’ Tara dropped her voice; if her half-sister was anything like her and Toby, she’d have international-level eavesdropping skills when it came to adult conversations. ‘And she says her mum hasn’t been in touch with her since she got here. Is that true?’

It wasn’t any of her business, not really, and Tara was aware that ten-year-olds sometimes leaned towards an emotional truth rather than a strictly factual one, but Molly’s lost expression still haunted her conscience. Something wasn’t right and although Tara still squirmed away from the details of Keith’s personal life on her own behalf, someone ought to be asking the questions Molly couldn’t.

Surely Sarah would want to know exactly what was going on here, whether Molly was OK, what was planned for her birthday?

‘Shall we have a tea party?’ said Keith, before Tara could find the right words. ‘Here? In the garden? Would that be nice?’ He glanced sideways to check Molly was still occupied.

‘But what about her friends? What about her mum?’

Keith raised his hands. ‘Would it not be more weird if I had a list of ten-year-old girls in my phone to invite?’

Tara couldn’t argue with that. ‘Fine. You, me and Molly it is, then.’

Poor Molly.

Sybil had registered her displeasure at Lloyd’s arrival at the other end of the garden by spending more and more time lurking in the rose bushes at the front of the house, leaping out at unsuspecting birds when Tara was stacking the dishwasher or parking her car.