‘He had a disease, Pax. It killed him.’

‘I’ve stopped!’ This room was one of the few places Pax ever let herself shout. This was where she’d buried her face in her grandmother’s wide shoulders and howled. Ann Percy was never a physically affectionate character – a pat on the back and a ‘pull yourself together, there’s a girl’ was as much as you got – but she loved a good argument, unafraid of raised voices and strong opinions, even the odd teenage tantrum, as long as it was backed up with justification. The heavy-bottomed glasses of kitchen sherry had been slammed down on this table with great passion over bad show judges, ill-mannered hunt followers and rude neighbours on many occasions.

‘I’ve stopped,’ she repeated. God, but she wanted a drink. A Bloody Mary to pep her up, with an extra shot of vodka to stop her hands shaking, a cool beer to slake her thirst.

‘It’s not as simple as that,’ Ronnie was saying. ‘Addictions aren’t. I promised Mack I’d try to help.’

‘Help with what, exactly?’ Her hangover was staging a fresh wave of hot-cold shivers, sweat springing from her temples. She shrugged off her coat.

‘You mustn’t make the mistakes I did.’

‘I’m nothing like you!’

‘I ran away too far too fast; I assumed I could come back for you, but the family closed ranks. That’s precisely what the Forsyths will do, given half the chance to keep Kes from you.’

‘No, they won’t. It’s all just threats; Mack will never follow through.’

‘That’s what I thought!’

‘I won’t let it happen.’ Pax glared at Ronnie.

Her mother’s clear blue gaze lingered, making her squirm.

‘What are you wearing?’ Ronnie asked suddenly.

She glanced down. A T-shirt with no bra, men’s breeches, a belt strangely twisted because it was too big. ‘My clothes got wet. I had to change.’

‘And those are Luca’s?’

She nodded defiantly, hating herself for enjoying the confusion on her mother’s face.

‘Mack’s accusing you of infidelity, you realise? He says you told him you slept with a stranger last night.’

‘We slept in the same room.’ She shrugged, seventeen again.

Ronnie rubbed her face, stretching the skin around her eyes so they looked briefly startled. ‘Did anything happen?’

‘None of your business.’ That might slow the toy boy’s progress down a bit. She and her mother had history on that front.

Ronnie turned away, hugging herself, and Pax felt guilty and sad, her peacemaking solace shredded by peevishness.

‘You have to talk to Mack.’ Ronnie refused to give up. ‘Be open about what you want. Fight the urge to run and hide.’

‘He’s insanely angry. You heard him.’

‘All the more reason to be the rational one, to keep notes and get advice. You’re so good at all that.’

‘Not right now.’

‘I can help.’

‘I hardly think so, Mummy.’ Then, as if a switch had clicked, the calm returned. She felt it settle over her like a cool, silk sheet.