‘I’m up for a waitressing job there.’ She lifted a well-plucked eyebrow. ‘I do shifts at Le Mill, but it’s hard getting over there without a car. If it’s going to be full of tools, I might forget it.’

‘On the other hand, the pay’s good. I did my research, and the money’s all ethical venture capital: local suppliers, bamboo uniforms, quirky staff perks, no expense spared.’

‘Must be minted.’

‘With aubergine carpaccio and pickled fecking raisins.’

The Bags would have hooted with obliging laughter, but Carly creased her forehead uncertainly, wary of being taken for a fool.

‘Your man’s next door, I take it?’

She nodded, eyes staying cynically narrow. ‘It’s more of a lads’ night.’

‘Stay here for as long as you like. I was about to watch Black Panther on Box Office.’

‘Seriously? I love that film. I’ll text Ash that I’ve broken a nail. That’ll buy me an hour.’ Seeing Bridge’s sceptical face, she explained, ‘Janine makes out like it’s a dark art, and she’s so slow at it Turner men think fake nails take longer than heart surgery.’ To authenticate her story, Carly took one of her long thumb talons between her teeth and tugged off its fake gel tip, leaving a naked little pad to pat out the text super-fast on her phone screen. About to press send, she pulled a face. ‘Then again, the lads might come round here.’

‘Tell him we’re sharing birth stories.’ Bridge winked, reaching for the remote.

‘Love it!’ The thumb danced once more.

*

When Pax set off, the white-out on the top of the Comptons’ ridge made driving difficult, as Lester had predicted. Even navigating her way to the end of the drive took concentration. She was grateful for the Noddy car’s fog lights, Mack’s puppy whimpering in the boot of the car.

‘It’s okay, little one,’ she soothed. Remembering that Landseer had gone mad, she’d decided against calling him that. Mack, disinterested, had suggested Rover. Perhaps they should ask Kes to name him. The fog in front of her blurred. ‘Stop it!’ she hissed to herself.

As soon as they were on the village lane her phone found a mobile signal and started trilling with incoming messages, the car’s dash screen lighting up with a flurry of backlogged notifications. Distracted, she pulled up to read them in a gateway. All were from Mack, each one increasingly desperate for an answer.

He claimed he’d had a change of heart (or a stiff talking-to from his big sister, more likely). He’d been too hasty embracing his parents’ plans without discussing them with her first. Of course they must talk. They’d work things through. For Kes. For each other.

Pax had motion sickness from the mood swings of marriage break-up, the constant ups and downs, the indecision.

The messages got more demanding and emotional with each successive time stamp. In the last few, he’d added kisses – and cs – told her he loved her – and lived for her – and that he mossed, mussed and missed her. If one of them was halfway down a whisky bottle, it wasn’t her.