‘Actually, he’s not too bad. He’s been cutting down on sugar, although he does hate being nagged about it. He’s even been going for the odd walk! Apparently someone in the pub was teasing him about his glamorous daughter, on TV, and said he needed to start sorting himself out.

‘He’s very proud of you. We both are. I know he doesn’t always tell you…’

‘He doesn’t ever tell me, Mum.’

Silence. I’m losing control of the call—and I don’t want to put Mum in the middle of this again. She has to live with it. I take a deep breath.

‘Um, with everything happening at Hudson, there are some big changes. I’ve been offered a job at Panache, the magazine I’ve always dreamed of working for. More money, more security. But…’

‘But what?’

‘I’ve been talking to my boss, and we’re thinking about setting up a brand new website together, having our own business. There would be more storytelling, more personal stuff, I guess. We started developing the idea together, she’s found some investors. But it’s probably ridiculous, it might not work out, it wouldn’t be…secure.’

‘Investors?’ I can hear Mum smiling down the phone. ‘You’re making something people want to invest in? Oh, Imogen, that’s brilliant!’

‘But…if there’s a chance for a bit more money and more security, you’d tell me to take it, right?’

There’s a pause on the line. ‘Imogen, security isn’t the be all and end all. I’ve done things…made decisions…I suppose I’ve always felt that it was my job to keep you safe. And I’ve worried, because I couldn’t do anything else. I thought that I was obliged to keep your life risk free. But I think there’s much more out there for you.’

‘But you didn’t—would you—oh, I wish you’d take some risks, Mum.’ Like leaving Dad. Which will never happen.

‘Imogen, the best and worst thing about being your mother is I’ve never really been able to give you anything. Not just because we don’t have much, and because I’ve been looking after your dad, but—you’ve always been so restless, and curious and determined. I don’t know where you get it from. I suppose I always thought you were in your own world, but you’re not a dreamer, you’re a doer. Not like anyone else I’ve ever known.’

‘Mum!’ I am absolutely, utterly floored. ‘So—even you don’t think I should necessarily take the proper job? Do the sensible thing?’

‘Why would you start now? I’ve been telling you that for years and you haven’t taken a scrap of notice. Besides, if it doesn’t work out…’

Oh, don’t say it, don’t say it.

‘…You can always come home.’