That made him wince, but he took it on the chin. ‘Ouch.’

‘How did you get in?’ she demanded. Calm down. It won’t help. Stick with the facts.

‘The gate in the hedge.’ He pointed towards the far end of the garden, where it backed on to a footpath.

‘There’s a gate there?’ Tara had never seen one.

‘It’s nearly overgrown now. Didn’t you know? I put it in when I built the studio so I could nip in and out without trailing mud through the house.’

So he could nip in and out to the pub, more like. Or other people could nip in and out to the studio. Ugh. The things that dawned on you as an adult.

Tara ran her hand through her black curls, trying to anchor herself in the moment. It was too much to process: reality and memories sliding over one another like an almost lucid afternoon-nap dream. And Dad, somewhere in the middle of both.

‘Can I come in, though?’ he went on. ‘I’m dying for a …’ His eyes darted meaningfully.

There followed a long pause in which Tara struggled hard with herself and finally said, ‘Fine,’ because what else could she say? Pee in the begonias?

She turned to walk up the path, ignoring her own voice of common sense, which had now joined in with her mother yelling at her inside her head, and Sybil watched them from the wall. She did not seem impressed.

Inside, Keith went straight to the downstairs loo and Tara grabbed her phone to call Toby, mentally calculating what time it would be with him, then realizing she didn’t care. He could drop whatever spa review he was writing for this.

To her surprise, he picked up.

‘Dad’s here!’ she hissed before he could speak.

‘What?’

‘Dad’s here. He was in the garden. He got in through some secret gate – I don’t even know where to start with that!’

There was a long pause on the end of the line. A suspicious one.

‘Toby, did you know about this?’

‘Not exactly. Dad rang out of the blue, last night.’ He sounded evasive. ‘Listen, I tried to get hold of you earlier but your phone was off, then I was in meetings …’

‘I was working! And why did he ring you and not me?’ Even now, there was a nip of something childish about her dad talking to Toby first.

‘Don’t ask me. We got talking about … Mum, that sort of thing, you know, and I said you were in Longhampton, sorting out the house. He suggested he could give you a steer about what was worth selling. I said why not, because he does know what’s what, Tara.’