As he leaned down to scoop the toddler into his arms, Maggie noticed two things: one, that she felt a pain like a knitting needle stabbing into her side to see her ex cuddling a small daughter with such tenderness, when his eldest child was trying her hopeful, bravest best to form a relationship with him. The second thing she noticed was that his black hair appeared to have a tiny grey line at its roots. Will dyed his hair? For some reason that cheered her up immensely. Even the knitting-needle stab seemed to ease just a smidge.

‘Amelia’s got a real talent,’ she felt compelled to add, nonetheless. ‘She certainly doesn’t get it from me!’ So just look at Amelia for a moment, you prick. Look at her properly and take her seriously. Would it kill you to put that other child down for five minutes, when we’ve come all this way?

He turned his gaze on her and, for a terrible moment, Maggie thought she might just have said all of that out loud and blushed furiously.

‘So you’ll pick her up . . . what, Friday?’ he asked, joggling Rain on his hip. She had gorgeously springy russet curls that bounced with every joggle, and giggled at the bouncing, poking him lovingly in the cheek.

‘Kiss Daddy,’ she announced, leaning in for a rather slobbery face-plant.

Friday? Wait . . . what? Maggie was on holiday mode, where time had already lost its importance as a concept, the days of the week melding into a pleasingly indistinguishable blur, but even so, she was pretty sure Friday was fairly distant from now. ‘Isn’t it only Monday today, though?’ she asked. Will must have got it wrong. Too busy being organic and mindful to check the calendar, she expected. ‘I was just assuming she’d be here for one night and then—’

‘Please, Mum,’ Amelia said immediately. ‘Can’t I stay till Friday? We do have a whole week of the holiday left after that, so . . .’

Maggie opened her mouth to argue, but the pleading light in her daughter’s eyes was impossible to ignore. ‘Well . . .’ she began. Ever since they had left home, she seemed to have been making one weedy protest after another and losing every time, she realized, her heart sinking. By the time it was Friday, though, half their holiday would be over.

Celeste was scooping dusty-looking tea leaves into a health hazard disguised as a teapot and Maggie’s eye was caught by the chunky silver bracelet on her wrist. One that resembled a manacle. Clearly Will wasn’t all that original with his gifts.

‘They haven’t seen in each other for almost ten years,’ Celeste said mildly. ‘Can’t you spare her for four nights?’

Maggie’s hackles rose in disbelief. Er . . . Yeah! Correct, Celeste. It had been almost ten years. And whose bloody fault was that?