It turned out Molly was handy with a phone camera and didn’t mind taking the tedious detail shots from every angle, and then uploading them twice as fast as Tara had managed. With tea and biscuits and the radio on, it wasn’t so bad, and between them, they got two Sindys and three vintage necklaces up on Tara’s page. After half an hour or so, Tara realized she could tune out some of Molly’s complex monologue about Lloyd and Sybil’s imaginary relationship, her favourite cereal, astrology, etc., and simply enjoy the low hum of a contented child, wittering on in the knowledge someone was sort of listening.

The happy stream of consciousness continued until Molly said, ‘Tara, if I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?’

‘If I can.’ She crossed her fingers, hoping it wouldn’t be anything to do with last night. Had they been yelling loud enough to be heard in the studio? She really didn’t want Molly to have heard the Branston story.

‘Is it …?’ It was hard for Molly to get out, whatever it was. ‘Is it my fault Daddy’s gone?’ Her gaze remained on the necklace she was photographing.

‘What?’ Tara felt relief, then sudden sadness. ‘No, of course not. No, it’s nothing to do with anything you’ve done.’

She was about to say, How could it be? and then remembered her own sad list in the back of those red notebooks. Snoring. Lack of piano practice. Not being funny enough.

‘Your mum’s not very well,’ she said carefully, trying to stick to the truth, ‘so Dad’s gone to be with her. She’s being looked after, though.’ She paused, unsure whether that had gone in. ‘Molly?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Molly had returned to taking detailed photos of Air Hostess Sindy.

‘I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from him.’

No reply. Just a close-up of Sindy’s shoes. They weren’t really suitable for long-haul travel.

Tara hesitated, then put a hand on Molly’s bent head. Her ‘don’t distract me, I’m concentrating’ defensive hunch stirred up another memory in the back of her mind, the reading, reading, reading she’d done in the months after Dad had gone. Ploughing through books just to be somewhere else, anywhere else, other than with this strange family that didn’t feel like hers any more.

Without speaking, Tara picked up the doll that Molly was photographing and unpeeled the tape that had sealed Sindy’s cardboard coffin for forty years.

Molly turned in surprise. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Let’s get her out,’ said Tara. ‘She’s time-travelled here from 1981, let’s see what she’s got to say for herself.’

Molly watched Tara untwisting the ties, and then smiled and reached for Sindy’s tiny flight bag.

It carried on raining for the rest of the morning.