It was good to cry, she told herself, struggling to breathe in between gasping tears. It was a natural release when there were too many thoughts, too much emotion, overloading her brain.

As Tara stumbled towards the hall, she heard something that sent her stomach sinking, even in the midst of her own misery: the feet of an eavesdropper scuttling back up the stairs.

The last thing poor Molly needed was to hear them rowing.

Sybil, she told herself, reaching blindly for the polished banister. It was probably Sybil.

Toby, in semi-penitence, made tea, scrambling every egg in the fridge, and giving a subdued Molly extra butter on her toast. Tara ignored the buttery crusts that fell on the floor, and into the mouth of Lloyd. Sybil made a brief appearance at the kitchen door, saw Lloyd and slunk away in disgust. Keith didn’t call. It was still raining.

The three of them sat under a blanket on the sofa to watch the Toy Story series, in order, until Molly went to bed, and they switched to The Crown.

‘Is Dad going to ring tonight, do you think?’ Toby asked.

‘I’ve tried a couple of times but no answer.’ Tara had checked out the place Sarah was staying; it was upmarket, but strict. ‘There are rules about phone usage.’

‘Hope Sarah’s OK.’

‘Me too. Poor woman.’ Tara already felt bad about last night’s reaction. Of course it was right that Dad should go to her.

‘Mmm.’

Neither wanted to start a big conversation. They were too tired. Tara wondered if she should tell Toby about the will, but she couldn’t summon up the energy for the complicated legal explanations about what their options were. Not on a Sunday night before a long week at work.

Prince Charles and Princess Diana sulked across the screen in front of them, and Tara ate another biscuit and wondered if the Monday morning astrology report in the kitchen would mention anything about family revelations.

The thought of the Wellness Centre made her feel unexpectedly better. It was somewhere she felt safe. Somewhere positive and supportive, where her abilities were valued. Even Hero’s healing crystal bracelet now felt like a kindness.

I’m going to ace the Centre Director interview next week and take charge of my life, Tara decided. She had enough time to prepare the heck out of it – time to learn the statistics Jacqueline loved, to draft an irresistible outreach programme, and to spreadsheet some impressive new therapy directions. Tara had always hated exams, unlike seat-of-the-pants Toby, but having a ton of preparation under her belt helped.

‘You know what,’ she said, throwing back the blanket. ‘I’ve had enough of dysfunctional families for tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Upstairs, cross-legged in her pyjamas, Tara opened her laptop to check what she had coming up in the next few days, so she could plan her interview prep timetable.