Yeah, right, thought Tara. A hotel would definitely be involved, one with a cocktail bar and discreet staff. It was so disappointing. So exactly what her mum would have predicted; so annoyingly as Diane had said: leopards didn’t change their spots. One step forward towards a proper father-daughter relationship, two steps back.

Tara itched to challenge him about it, if only to show he couldn’t pull the wool over her eyes these days, but she didn’t want any bad feeling in the air before Molly’s party. The good news was, though, that they would now be three guests – Toby had changed his flights. ‘You’ll be back by lunchtime, won’t you? I planned to start about half three. And you know Toby’s arriving on Saturday morning now?’

‘Is he? Marvellous. I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ said Keith. ‘I promise.’

‘You’d better.’ Tara almost added, Tell whoever you’re sleeping with you need to get home for your little girl’s birthday party, but she didn’t. She hoped her face said that for her.

Toby’s flight landed in Heathrow on Thursday but he didn’t arrive in Longhampton until mid-morning Saturday.

He’d come via work: a series of ‘iconic British experiences’ conveniently located in a straight line from central London to Longhampton. By the time his hire car – an Aston Martin convertible, which he was reviewing for a separate feature – pulled up outside Tara’s house, Toby had already covered his flight plus upgrade, courtesy of five hundred words each on two brand-new London hotels and their afternoon tea offering, a spa in Reading that did coffee-based treatments, Stonehenge and the Pump Room in Bath.

Tara had tried not to be jealous when he’d updated her on the phone. Of either the hotels, or the chutzpah in getting paid to have the ultimate English summer holiday.

Molly’s face had fallen when Keith hadn’t appeared for breakfast. Her lower lip wobbled, but Tara had swiftly produced croissants and chocolate spread, and reminded her that her half-brother was on his way.

This seemed to distract Molly, and the notebook had discreetly made an appearance as she quizzed Tara about Toby (‘Does he have a dog? Where does he live in America? Does he sound like you? Which bits of me does he look like?’ – only some of which, disconcertingly, Tara could answer), but when the silver Aston roared up outside, Molly’s excitement was swallowed up by shyness and she ran off to ‘get something’ from the studio.

Tara’s own nerves were fluttering in her stomach from the moment she woke up too. The few days Toby had spent in the UK for their mum’s funeral were a blur; she could barely remember the funeral, let alone conversations. There hadn’t been time. There hadn’t been any emotional energy left.