In the hall, Bea had body- slammed Zoe and was now clinging around her legs. ‘Mummy, no,’ she cried. ‘Don’t leave me.’

‘Stop being so dramatic,’ Zoe said, stuffling some keys in her jeans pocket. ‘I’m not going forever. I just need a break.’ She unwound the little girl’s arms from her knees. ‘Be good for your uncle,’ she added on her way out.

‘MUMMY!’ Bea howled as the front door closed. Through the red and green teardrop shapes of its stained-glass window you could see Zoe walking quickly down the path, then turning onto the pavement. Dan blinked and she was gone completely. Meanwhile Bea was rolling around on the carpet, wailing and snotty. She had lost one parent already, Dan remembered. He had to be kind with her, rather than impatient.

‘It’s all right,’ he said, kneeling down. He put a wary hand on her shoulder as if she were a wild animal, but she shook him off with a sob. ‘Mummy’ll be back soon. She’s just gone for a walk. Do you want to help me dish up tea?’

‘No! I just want her!’

‘She’s not allowed to dish up,’ Ethan put in unhelpfully. ‘Too babyish. She’d only spill something or burn herself.’

‘Would NOT!’ Lying face- down, Bea kicked out, almost scoring a direct hit to Dan’s groin.

‘Hey,’ he yelped, backing away. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said from a safe distance. ‘Come on, hop up now and . . .’ He struggled to think of something she could do. ‘You can help me mash the potatoes. I bet you’re a great masher.’

Bea said nothing, but kicked wildly again and thumped the floor for good measure, the rainbow tail of her unicorn onesie bouncing with each movement. ‘I want Mummy,’ she sobbed. ‘Mummy!’

‘Leave her,’ said Ethan, turning back towards the kitchen. ‘She’s just trying to get attention. This is what she does, like, every day. It’s so boring.’

Dan hesitated, feeling powerless. Bea sounded genuinely distraught; he couldn’t simply abandon her there. What else could he off er his niece other than potato- mashing? ‘Um . . .’ he began, his mind unhelpfully blank.

But before he could think of anything, there came a shout from the kitchen. ‘Uncle Dan? Did you know that the sausages are on fire?’

About the Author

Lucy Diamond grew up in Nottingham and has also lived in Leeds, London, Oxford and Brighton. She now lives in Bath with her husband and three children.

An Almost Perfect Holiday is her fifteenth novel, and the idea for this particular book came to her when she was lying by a swimming pool in France, shamelessly eavesdropping on the family who were holidaying next door. She apologizes if that was you, but is very grateful for all the juicy material she overheard. In fact, she couldn’t have written this one without you.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Novels

Any Way You Want Me

Over You