Em was not an idiot and sensed very clearly how she was being directed, and so she ended up buying the beautiful oil painting. There was two hundred quid she’d never see again, she thought waspishly, giving Jack a cross look, as the shopkeeper taped bubble-wrap around it for her. Talk about blood money. With a final gritted-teeth apology, she marched the three out into the street, where she dumped the bubble-wrapped picture down by her feet so that she could put her hands on her hips.

‘Right,’ she said, eyes like lasers as she gave them all her hardest stare, one after another. So much for happy blended families on holiday, she thought. So much for George getting to know and love her fantastic special children! Thank God she’d had the foresight to leave him safely in the soft-play hellhole while she dealt with this. ‘Let’s hear it then. Exactly what have you three been up to?’

Chapter Seven

This was the life, Maggie told herself, albeit with a certain grim determination. Here she was, draped on a sun lounger by a pool, enjoying the gentle plash of water as a light breeze drove ripples across it. There were birds singing in the trees behind the cottage, the air was warm and soft, and there was a nearby shrub festooned with pink flowers that smelled deliciously of honey. This is what other people longed for on holiday, wasn’t it?: complete rest and relaxation in beautiful surroundings. Nothing whatsoever to do except admire the scenery, pick up a tan and get lost in the pages of a good book. Bliss!

Except . . . well, she was struggling to feel very blissful, unfortunately. She had sent Amelia off with strict instructions to be careful on the road but still felt compelled to keep checking her watch and phone, wondering where Amelia was now and if she was all right. Instead of settling into her novel, her mind insisted on raking relentlessly over the events of the morning, all those sharp words they’d hurled at one another. Also, she felt horribly public, sitting there on her own, as if showing to the world that no, she didn’t have anyone to spend time with right now. No, even her own daughter didn’t want to be with her! Who would? It was the fortune-cookie moment all over again.

Her thoughts turned with dismal predictability to a scene from several weeks earlier, a scene that kept coming back to jab her whenever she was feeling inadequate. It had been her brother Ross’s birthday and Helena, his wife, had organized a celebratory family dinner at their Berkshire home: a catered Chinese buffet served in the wood-panelled dining room.