‘Please don’t tell me it’s about work. On a Saturday night.’

Keith was still reading, a deep frown forming on his forehead. He managed a ‘hmmph!’ semi-laugh in response, which only riled Tara further. What was so important? When she’d just told him how important his attention was to her?

‘Dad!’

‘It’s not work.’

‘Then what is it?’ Tara could hear her voice rising. ‘What is more important than your own children? You say you want to start again with us, and build a proper relationship, but you can’t even ignore your phone for one night. I’ve been watching you all afternoon, texting and checking it. It’s like everyone else is more important to you than us!’

‘Tara, did you hide the phone in the kitchen?’ Toby was looking at her strangely.

The gin was making her brain unwieldy. ‘Not intentionally – I mean, it was on the tray, I was tidying up …’

‘You did! Who made you the phone police?’

‘Why are you taking his side? Oh, wait – you’ve probably met Niamh, haven’t you? You’ve probably been out for drinks, and—’

‘Niamh?’ said Toby, and when Tara flushed red, he pointed at her, triumphantly. ‘So you have been checking his phone!’

‘That’s not—’

‘I take it back, you’d make a crap policewoman.’

‘Stop it!’ Keith didn’t even look up at them. He’d already dialled a number and the phone was by his ear. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘It never is!’ Tara’s self-restraint snapped. It was so disappointing; she knew what her dad was, but when it came down to it, she’d hoped he’d come up with something grander, more impressive, than the cheap self-delusion she heard week in, week out, on her consulting room sofa. ‘You’ve created a separate reality in which you can shag someone else, and line up another person to deal with the mess.’

‘Like Mum,’ said Toby.

‘Exactly,’ said Tara, surprised that Toby was agreeing with her. ‘Mum had to clear up the mess you left behind. And now Molly’s got to go through what we did?’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Toby.

‘What?’ Tara turned on him. ‘Then what did you mean?’

‘For Christ’s sake, shut up, the pair of you!’ Keith raised a hand, and turned away. ‘Hello? Yes, it’s Keith. Thanks for your calls, Niamh, sorry I didn’t get back to you earlier but …’ His expression changed, and he got up from the table. ‘Oh.’

He didn’t sound like someone talking to a new girlfriend.

Toby and Tara exchanged glances as Keith started walking down the garden, talking inaudibly, clutching the small of his back, a deep frown on his face. When he got to the swing, he stopped, suddenly, and squeezed his forehead as if it ached.

‘Seriously, Tara,’ said Toby. ‘You’re jumping to some conclusions. Why should Niamh be a girlfriend?’