‘Wow,’ said Tara. Even the way he was talking about it, so positive and upbeat, felt light years away from the growing weariness overwhelming the volunteers now. They were tired, and mostly out of their depth, especially on matters of building work, as well as conscious that there was almost no money available to help the people turning to them for answers. ‘We’d appreciate any help. But there’s no budget,’ she added. ‘We can’t pay you.’

‘Don’t worry about that. We’ve got a company commitment to provide a certain number of hours pro bono for community projects. There wouldn’t be any charge. I can send you a link to our website, you can see some of the things we’ve been involved with. We built an outdoor community kitchen last year: sustainable vegetable beds, solar panels for the ovens – that sort of thing. Playgrounds are another popular one. We do a good playground!’

It sounded too good to be true. ‘Is there a catch? If I say yes, do we have to be in a documentary?’

‘Ha! No! No catch. I just want to help. I admire what you’ve done, Tara. It takes a lot of energy to rebuild after flooding. And I know expertise and time are sometimes more useful than cash.’

Tara stared at Harry’s greasy cake, already crumbling on the plate, its mystery ingredient still undetected. Dad’s voice hadn’t changed, unlike his physical appearance. When she saw him again, that too would be less strange. The real ghost was the man in between, the man with her dad’s face who’d lived most of Tara’s life in a different family, in a different place. Still her dad, but with no interest in anything she’d done, anything she’d achieved.

And NOW he’s proud of you? Her mother’s voice again, eyebrow arched.

She’d left it too long to reply.

‘It’s just a suggestion,’ said Keith breezily. Too breezily, maybe? ‘If you don’t think it’s a good idea …’

Tara thought of Sonia’s wrecked house. The food bank. The people without beds, without pets, without the comfort of their homes. She’d be churlish to refuse help, just because she wasn’t sure of her dad’s motives. Wouldn’t she?

‘It’s a kind offer,’ she said. ‘But you need to speak to Alice, she’s the parish council contact.’

‘Brilliant,’ said Keith, ‘send me her details.’

As she walked back to her room, two things occurred to Tara. One was that her dad hadn’t mentioned Toby once – neither to dob him in for not warning her, nor to ask how he was – and the other, as the cake began its quick retreat up her throat, was that Harry’s secret ingredient was probably spinach.