He fought to stay relaxed, noting the sparkle in Emelie’s eyes despite her discomfiture. She was just twenty and her Italian boyfriend had asked her to share his life. If she wanted it, she should be free to grab it. ‘What do your parents say?’

She shrugged. ‘They’re worried about me leaving you in the lurch. And,’ she added honestly, ‘they think Bruno and me are very young to settle down. I told them moving in doesn’t have to mean settling down. We’re students,’ she added, as if that explained everything … which it probably did.

Crossing the kitchen, he gave her a hug. ‘If you want to move in with Bruno then do it. I’m not your responsibility, sweetie.’

She looked torn. ‘I could still help with some babysitting.’ There was a slight emphasis on ‘some’.

‘That would be great,’ he answered reassuringly. Then while she got jubilantly back on the phone to Bruno he went upstairs on leaden feet to check the bath water, though he reminded himself he could probably still ask Emelie if she could take Josie to school on Monday while he had his meeting with Anders. Damn Tilly for bailing on him. Though what would happen if he still had Maria by Monday morning …

Nico put his Dad face on as Maria slithered into the bath to play with the lid of the shampoo bottle, trying to avoid Josie’s attempt to wash her hair. Between them they spilled at least half the shampoo, the sweet-shop smell of vanilla filling the room. Exchanging chitchat with them both, Nico hid the sinking dismay with which Emelie’s news had filled him, answering cheerfully when, from downstairs, she shouted, ‘Going out! See you!’ before the front door slammed.

When he got the girls downstairs again he opened the post, including a letter from the chair of governors of Barrack Road Primary School acknowledging his concerns but backing up everything Mrs Watts had already said.

It was lunchtime before he remembered his eating plan and heated soup for all three of them. Maria liked squares of buttered bread sunk amongst the vegetables. She fished them out with a spoon and a finger, saying, ‘Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm,’ and conveyed each messily to her mouth. Josie, like Nico, just dunked the bread before spooning up the remaining soup.

The three of them sat around the breakfast bar, Josie providing a stream of questions. ‘When can we have our Christmas lights up? And you know Mum’s ill again, how long will Maria be staying?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Nico was aware he wasn’t providing the positivity Josie searched for. She was too sensitive and intelligent to be fobbed off, but he added, ‘What would you like to do after lunch?’