Maggie shut the door again, her heart thudding, feeling as if she’d lost face terribly. Lost a battle too. ‘So there we are,’ she said after a moment. ‘Looks like you’re going, after all.’ She was unable to look at Amelia in case there was a gloating light of victory in her eyes; she didn’t think she could bear it. ‘You’d better go and butter that toast before it gets cold,’ she added, as Amelia skipped away from her, a new bounce in her step.

Leaning against the wall, Maggie had the tight, miserable feeling of having been outplayed. Cycling on unknown roads, on an unfamiliar bike, with teenagers she barely knew, one of whom had been boasting about being able to sneak out some alcohol . . . This was not at all what she wanted for her girl. This was not remotely the lovely start to the holiday she had hoped for.

More to the point, she realized, with a startled jolt, if Amelia was departing for these new horizons this morning, what on earth was Maggie going to do with herself in the meantime?

Chapter Five

‘So I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Mack said, bending down to kiss her. Olivia was still in her dressing gown at the kitchen table, hair lank and unwashed on her shoulders, while the detritus of family breakfast lay all around: the smeary Weetabix bowls, the explosion-splatter of toast crumbs and the blobs of raspberry jam quivering like bright scarlet jewels beside the butter dish.

‘Yep,’ she said, not leaning into him like she might once have done. You could at least have helped me clear this lot up first, she thought with weary reproach.

‘Probably around five, depending on the traffic, but I’ll text if I’m going to be much later than that, okay?’ he went on, not seeming to notice how still she held herself, how tightly her hands were clenched around her mug. ‘Right, where are those rascals? Stanley? Harry? Come and say bye to Daddy. I’m going now. Boys?’

In they roared like a double blond whirlwind, her three-year-old twin tearaways, whose hobbies were wrestling, resisting naps and smashing things. ‘Where are they? Where are those boys of mine?’ Mack repeated, pretending to peer into cupboards and the fridge. ‘Don’t say I’ve lost them. Don’t say they’ve gone missing again.’

He crouched down to look under the table and this was their cue to launch themselves with whoops and war cries onto his back. ‘Whoa,’ he yelled, as their small plump arms fastened around his neck. ‘I’m being attacked! They’ve got me! They’ve got me!’

‘CHOP! CHOP!’ yelled Stanley, bashing the side of his hand against his father’s neck. ‘Chop off your HEAD!’