‘Oh,’ said Maggie again, disappointment sinking through her like coloured dye in water. Was this how it was going to be for the entire fortnight – this fruitless pursuit? ‘It’s the first night of our holiday, though, I thought we could play cards or . . . ?’

Amelia sighed. You would think she’d just been asked if she wanted her fingernails ripped out one by one. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Or I’ve brought Yahtzee?’ Maggie persisted, trying not to hear how pleading her own voice sounded. ‘If you fancy it?’

Amelia shook her head. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Look, I kind of already said I’d meet them, so . . .’

So that was that. ‘Okay,’ Maggie said, defeated. ‘But don’t—’

The front door shut before she could finish her sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she’d been about to say. Don’t do anything silly. Don’t get into trouble. Don’t . . . forget about me.

Too late, anyway. Maggie was left with all the washing up and then an evening in morose solitude. Not exactly the holiday unity and camaraderie she’d hoped for.

The following day was a new start, though, and Maggie was determined to put her disappointment from the previous evening behind her. Amelia had come in at ten the night before, and seemed more cheerful at least, although she hadn’t been remotely forthcoming on what she, Jack and his sister had been doing the whole time. ‘Stuff,’ she’d said airily with a shrug. ‘Just hanging out, you know.’

No, Maggie didn’t know. That was the problem. But Amelia hadn’t smelled of either cigarettes or alcohol, at least, so perhaps the others were innocent and well behaved, like Amelia. Small mercies.

‘Morning!’ she said, as Amelia came down for breakfast now, trying not to appear too startled by the fact that her daughter was wearing a full face of make-up, a clingy white vest top and a tiny black denim skirt. Maggie poured her a cup of tea and slotted two pieces of bread into the toaster, Amelia being very much a creature of habit when it came to the first meal of the day. ‘So today I thought we could pack up some lunch things and head over to Cligga Head,’ she began brightly, wishing Amelia would sit down at the small round table with her, rather than leaning slouchily against the door-jamb like that. ‘Remember, we researched it a few months ago and it’s got that granite exposure, which looked really interesting and—’

But Amelia was already shaking her head. ‘I’m going out with Jack. We’ve arranged to cycle into Falmouth. I’m borrowing a bike from them.’

Maggie felt her heart sink. ‘Oh, but . . .’ she bleated in disappointment. ‘No,’ she heard herself saying in the next moment. ‘No, I don’t think so.’