‘Well, she’s not coming back here. This time she’s made other plans. And you’d better give me that spare key, too, before I forget about it. They have to be returned to the lady who owns this place. Look, if you don’t mind, I have to get all this stuff packed and ready to go in the car when Mum comes. There’s really nothing for you to do.’

The dismissal was as clear as though she’d typed it out and handed it to him in an envelope, but Seymour stood his ground and watched as she began to take the garments from the wardrobe. All his careful, painstaking work had been in vain. Lynne just crammed things impatiently into a large plastic bag as though she wanted to get the whole business over and done with.

‘Angie likes it here,’ he said distantly. ‘She was going to get some rolls of wallpaper from this discount shop she knows about and do it all up. She’s got the colour scheme all worked out and everything. And she was going to ask if she could dig up the flower bed and plant climbing roses and stuff there. How do you know she’s not planning to come back? Did she tell you herself?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Seymour, you don’t know the first thing about it! Angie’s obviously been trotting out all her usual fantasies, and you’ve just been dumb enough to believe them. She’s definitely not coming back here, she’s going away interstate, leaving tonight. Dad’s picking her up from Rankin House when he finishes work and driving her to the airport. I wish you’d go home. Can’t you take a hint? You’re holding me up, standing there chattering about things you don’t even understand. Oh, I’ve had this cleaning up! Honestly, all the tacky rubbish Angie manages to collect…’ She tried unsuccessfully to wedge several pairs of shoes into the overladen bag, swearing irately under her breath. Seymour stared at her. Lynne was normally so cool and composed, it was rather unnerving to discover that she not only knew bad words, but would actually use them.

‘And there’s no sign of her suitcase,’ she finished bitterly. ‘Lovely beige leather, with an overnight bag to match. We got it for her on her last birthday. What on earth are you doing? There’s no use looking under the bed and up on the wardrobe for it! Probably sold it, didn’t she, like she does with any expensive present anyone gives her. Only she never ever says “sold”, it’s always “lost”. When I think how David and I put all our holiday savings towards that birthday present…’