Dad wiped his hand over his face. Tara caught a glimpse of something she didn’t recognize in the brief second it was uncovered, and a shadow went across her heart.

‘So can you take us?’ She smiled up at him, not wanting to push but at the same time wishing someone would just say how magnificent Branston looked. ‘Please?’

He glanced over at the kitchen but the door was shut. ‘The thing is …’

‘Do you like Branston’s outfit?’ Tara prompted him.

‘He looks terrific! And you’re … Alanis Morissette?’

Tara opened her coat to show him her blue gingham summer uniform. ‘Dorothy. From The Wizard of Oz.’

‘Of course you are. Well done, sweetie.’

Dad winked, and Tara’s anxious heart jumped with relief. Her dad’s smile always made her smile; it was the twinkle in his eye that hinted that some treat might be in the offing, as he would say: chocolate from the stash in his office drawer, or a tenner from his back pocket to splash out at Claire’s Accessories, a palace of glittery delights that Mum frequently muttered should be burned to the ground.

Tonight the smile was as warm as usual but it didn’t make Dad’s eyes crinkle up. His eyes were the same, but different. Sad, almost. Tara felt panicky without knowing why. A thick lump bulged in her throat, as if she’d swallowed bread without chewing.

‘I, er, need to nip out somewhere first,’ he said.

‘To get sweets for the treats?’

‘Yes. Well, something like that. Here, this is for you …’ He was grabbing his heavy wool jacket from the coat stand by the door, fishing in his pocket at the same time.

‘Toby?’ she called up the stairs, willing her brother with their special twin radar to get down here, to help her understand. Adults tended to prefer Tara to Toby, but he always seemed to know what was going on with them. ‘Toby, hurry up!’

The reply from upstairs was muffled. ‘Don’t rush me!’

‘Now!’ she yelled, sending silent shrieks of panic.

‘Here.’ Dad was offering her something from his clip of banknotes, and she took it mechanically without looking because she didn’t dare let Dad’s face out of her sight. ‘I love you, Taransay.’

Taransay. He was the only one who ever used her full name. But only on special occasions.

‘I love you too, Dad …’ she said, but he’d crouched down and had her head in his hands and he was kissing her along her sharp centre parting, where her dark hair split into two neat plaits.

‘Dad …’ This was so weird. He never kissed her on the head like this either. He bear-hugged her, or tickled her, or planted loud raspberries on her tummy, although he hadn’t done that for a long time.

‘Right then,’ he said cheerfully, and ruffled Branston’s ears. ‘You hang on there, I’ll see you in a minute.’