Connie was the first to grin, which she quickly followed with a shriek that scared Suzie. Riel and Aggie were used to Connie’s oddness, so ignored her; Sam, out of boredom, was using his penknife to snag stitches out of the seat he was sitting on.

Angela, Julia and Connie, quite unprompted, came together in the center of the bus and hugged. They then forced themselves into Ester’s two-seater space and hugged her too, which she pretended to object to.

“Gerroff me! You stink! Gerroff, I’m going to the bar.” Ester struggled to her feet. “Come and get me when we’re there.”

Connie curtsied and off Ester went.

“Right, kids!” Julia turned.

Sam was holding up a £50 note. She dived to the back of the bus and snatched it from his hand. She didn’t have to say anything, she just glared. Between Sam’s legs, the stitching in the front of his seat was open about half an inch, exposing one of the stacks of cash. He closed his legs, covering the damage he’d done. She read the “I won’t tell a soul” in his eyes. Julia pushed the £50 note back through the hole in the seat and stroked Sam’s hair. Even though he was only eight, and inquisitive as a puppy, she trusted him completely.

“I can sew that.” Julia spun round to see Angela right behind her. “Maybe you should take the knife though, eh? For safekeeping.” Then, to show Sam that she too trusted him, she said, “Rob, would you take the kids to look around? Sam’s going to be your wingman.”

Sam handed his penknife to Julia and left the bus with the other kids, Rob, Connie and Julia.

As the ferry pulled away from the terminal, Angela sat in the driver’s seat and looked out to sea. Then, quite unexpectedly, she began to cry. She tried to control it, but she couldn’t; the tears flooded out from pure relief. Angela gasped in the stale air smelling of petrol fumes, to try and calm herself down. She opened the glovebox and there, sitting on top of all of Rob’s junk, were a small, worn teddy bear and a bright yellow teething ring. She thought back to Dolly Rawlins and their impromptu shopping trip to Mothercare all those years ago.

You’re a good girl. Dolly’s voice was as clear as day. Stay strong and, most of all, stay happy. If you’re not happy, you’re not anything really.

It was only now that Angela recognized how sad Dolly had been when she’d said those words. Dolly had lost her own babies, she’d lost the man she loved more than life itself and she was hopelessly sad. Even if she had lived, she’d never have been happy again. Angela moved the little bear to one side and took out her sewing kit.

Maggie had been sitting in the restaurant for twenty minutes. She was drinking faster than usual, embarrassed to be sitting by herself at a table clearly set for two people. And if that wasn’t enough, she was dressed to kill, with her 40-minute hair and her 30-minute make-up—triple the time she normally gave herself to get ready for a night out.