‘You made it! Hello. Welcome to Cornwall,’ she said, rather stupidly, as if she owned the county. ‘I mean . . . Did you have a good journey? We’ve only been here half an hour or so ourselves. Hello, Seren,’ she added, as the little girl sidled in beside her dad, wheeling a small pink suitcase. Awkwardness forced Em’s face into a rictus smile and she crouched down, hoping that she sounded friendly and maternal. Don’t gush, she reminded herself. ‘Lovely to see you! We’re all set for a great holiday, aren’t we? Do you like the seaside?’

‘Not really,’ said Seren, lifting a shoulder as if she couldn’t care less about some old seaside.

George roared with laughter. ‘Of course she does,’ he said, ruffling her hair.

‘Yeah, I liked it when we went to the Bahamas with Mum, obviously,’ Seren said. ‘But . . .’ Her scathing look around the cottage was enough to get Em bristling. Er, excuse me, darling, but this cost me an arm and leg, so button it, she felt like saying. She didn’t, because she was rising above such things. Being the better person. Also because she was forty-four, and not seven herself, she remembered, plastering on a smile.

‘The Bahamas! Lucky you,’ she said. ‘Right then, drinks: can I get anyone a drink? Is it too early for wine?’ (She was desperate for wine.) ‘Not you, Seren, ha-ha,’ she went babbling on, ‘although I do have some squash, if you’re an orange-squash kind of girl.’

‘I’ll have wine,’ Jack said, appearing from the kitchen with a hopeful look on his face.

‘Not you, either,’ Em told him, and George laughed.

‘Nice try,’ he said, then came over and put his arms around her. All of a sudden Em found that she could breathe again. ‘Hello, holiday fun,’ he said.

‘Hello, good times,’ she replied, not caring how hokey they sounded. She hadn’t realized how much knotty tension she was holding in her shoulders until he was there, crushed against her. He smelled reassuringly scrumptious. It felt really good to have his arms around her, and her whole body went limp with relief in response. The drive, the worry, the argument with Izzie . . . it all melted away. Or most of it, anyway. She’d have to dissect Izzie’s words properly later, when she had some time to think. Ask her exactly what she meant and why she’d said it. But in the meantime she was too happy about George’s arrival to go there. ‘Is it me, or did the sun just get a touch brighter?’ she added cheesily. Five minutes he’d been here and she was already approaching peak fromage. Oh, who cared? Bring it on!

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack slap a hand to his face. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he groaned. ‘Please, Mum. There are children present. Children with sensitive dispositions.’