‘Because …’ She raised her hands. ‘It’s Dad. Accountants don’t call you ten times on the weekend.’

‘You don’t think Niamh could be someone professional? Like his doctor?’

‘Why on earth would I think that?’ She glanced down the garden, suddenly uncertain. That tone, that look. He wasn’t talking to a friend.

Toby shot a quick look in Keith’s direction to check he was still talking, then said, under his breath, ‘I heard him mention something about a hospital earlier, on the phone, in the garden. Something about results, an appointment. A second opinion. I think Dad’s ill. I think that’s what all this is about.’

The breath left Tara’s body as if a wind had blown through her, sweeping her blood and thoughts and sense away with it.

‘Dad lined up some of the features I did in London this week. He wanted us both to meet Molly. He’s not drinking, he’s thinner than when I last saw him, he looks shattered. Isn’t this adding up to something to you?’

An otherworldly light show was taking place over the treetops, a storm so far away it was completely silent. Lightning flashed in the distance, throwing veins of golden light across the soft suede of the night sky. It was beautiful, but it struck Tara that it wouldn’t be so peaceful underneath the storm. Wherever the storm was centred would be wild and loud and primeval. She felt a heavy drop of something wet fall on her face.

Then another.

Fat drops were falling on the table, the size of coins. It had started to rain but Tara barely registered the cool change in the air.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she hissed. ‘How long have you thought this?’

‘I only overheard him today. I mean, I had my suspicions about why he suddenly wanted to build bridges, but I assumed it was to do with Mum dying.’ Toby shrugged. ‘But think about it. Why would he come here and spend time, personally, on some nothing-y village hall in the middle of nowhere?’

‘Because he wanted to do something for the community?’ Even as she said it, Tara felt the past weeks shifting in her mind; the focus of everything flipped, revealing a totally different picture.

Toby shook his head, as if her naivety was sad and touching.

Keith finished his call and was walking back towards them, his face serious. It was an expression Tara remembered from the death of Simon the rabbit, from her Grandpa Hunter passing away: Keith’s serious face was so different from his normal humorous twinkle that he hadn’t needed to say a word for the young Tara to burst into tears.