‘I’ll phone you,’ she said. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve a lot on right now.’

‘Do you …’ His face twisted with the effort of the New Phil. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Tara smiled. ‘It’s OK. I don’t.’ She pulled her coat off the back of her chair and glanced out at the street. A shallow river was running down each side of the road, swirling into the gutters. Cars swished past, their windscreen wipers flicking thick swipes of rain from side to side. No one looked happy about it.

August. This was August. But it wasn’t raining in Tuscany.

‘I’ll call you,’ she promised, and headed out into the rain, back towards the office.

She’d only got as far as the deli on the corner when Toby rang.

‘Can you come home?’ he asked, dispensing with any preamble. ‘As soon as you can?’

‘What? Is everything OK?’ Tara started walking more quickly, avoiding the growing puddles on the pavement.

‘No,’ said Toby. ‘Not really. I need you back here, now. Quick as you can.’

And he hung up.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

‘You called me home because the babysitter had to leave early?’

Tara stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips and didn’t care if it made her look like a sitcom mother-in-law. She felt like a sitcom mother-in-law.

She’d hared back as fast as the traffic would allow with lurid Doomsday scenarios playing in her head. Molly overdosing on a handful of melatonin; Sarah escaping from rehab and on their doorstep demanding her child; Dad in a car crash; Lloyd run over. Lloyd eaten by Sybil. Sybil with her claws stuck in Lloyd.

But no. Toby had summoned her back because Lily’s dad had called round to collect her ‘before the roads are cut off’.

‘Yes.’ Toby looked affronted. ‘I need to work. I can’t write and look after a child at the same time.’

‘And what do you think I was doing until you called me back?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Macramé?’

Toby didn’t need to know she’d been drinking coffee with her ex. It was the principle of it.

‘What looking after does she even need?’ Tara dropped her voice so Molly – in the bathroom upstairs – wouldn’t hear. ‘I know she’s had a stressful weekend, but that’s what boxsets are for. And she reads! Jesus, Toby, I have had sourdough starters that required more attention than Molly.’

‘You wouldn’t understand, you’ve never had to deliver work to deadline,’ said Toby. ‘I need to concentrate.’