Becky hands it over. ‘Can you put the rooms on this one too?’

‘Everything’s paid for. By Matthew Kingsman.’

Becky hesitates then glances around her, as if someone’s watching her. When she’s sure no one is, she says, ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘You just need to pay for any incidentals.’

She pulls her sleeves over her fists. ‘Honestly? I’d rather pay for the whole thing if that’s all right.’

‘It’s all done, all gone through. Is there a …’ She checks a sheet of paper by her keyboard. ‘Is there a Maisie Shawcross with you?’

‘Yes? Why? Do you need her?’

‘Please.’

Becky turns to Maisie. Thinks twice. ‘Hold on, can I ask what it’s about?’

‘Of course.’ The receptionist hands the sheet of paper to Becky. It reads:

Dear Maisie, Please enjoy a trip away in this hotel, all expenses paid. If you’d like to try horse riding on the beach tomorrow, just ask and they’ll arrange it. Have a great birthday. If you grow up anything like your mum then you’ll be an amazing human being. Best birthday wishes, Matthew Kingsman.’

Becky folds the paper in four and drops it into her handbag. She is shivering. The air-con is up too high.

All presents are reciprocal. Aren’t they?

Her mind is shivering now, darting all over the place like it can’t find a place to settle, or hide. She takes the paper out of her bag and throws it in the bin like it’s contaminated. She doesn’t immediately untangle the details of why: all she knows is she doesn’t want Matthew’s promises within an inch of her daughter.

Maisie runs over, Adam in her wake. ‘This place is amazing, Mum! They have an omelette bar at breakfast.’

‘Traitor,’ growls Adam behind her. ‘We are pancake people. Don’t go chasing after other round foods at breakfast. No bagels. No omelettes. Definitely no pizzas.’

‘Omelettes get folded in half.’

‘That’s because they’re sneaky!’ shouts Adam, collapsing Maisie into giggles.

‘Mais,’ says Becky, ‘can you go to the bar and order us three nice cocktails?’ She hands her a credit card. ‘Make sure you pay for them on this. Oh, and non-alcoholic.’

‘Coming right up.’

‘What’s up?’ Adam says as they watch Maisie skip to the bar with its low-lit oceanic lighting. ‘You’re tense.’

‘Matthew’s paid for the whole thing,’ she says quietly.

‘Wow, that’s generous,’ he says. ‘And that’s a … problem?’

She wants to tell him everything: for it to pour out of her like news headlines racing across the bottom of the screen. But instead she is silent.

‘I’m disappointed not to be allowed to pay for it,’ says Becky. ‘For the first time in ages I can treat her, properly, you know?’