‘Mum.’ Lennie took a breath. ‘I know things are really crap at the moment and you must feel like … I don’t know what you feel like but it must be a hundred times as bad as I feel and that’s crap.’ Another breath. ‘And I know things are going to be bad for a while, really bad, and we’ll always be sad about Auntie Rin, that won’t ever stop, but I wanted to say … Just, don’t forget about our other life. Our real life. Please. This is only temporary, isn’t it? You said. We live in London – we’re going back. But you have to get things going. You’ve got to keep the pressure on.’

What pressure? All she had were her texts to Gid, and those were like fly-fishing: long, speculative lines sent glancing out across the distance, gossamer-weight.

And here was Lennie in a hideous shiny blazer on her way to spend the weekend at her grandparents’ stifling house, a hundred miles from all her friends and her old haunts, everything she’d known for the thirteen years of her life so far.

‘Len,’ she said, making a flash decision, ‘how do you feel about going to London tomorrow? I could go and see Gid, try and get things moving; you could get in touch with Carly and Emma, see if they’re around?’

Lennie’s face brightened instantaneously. ‘Really?’

As soon as they got through the door, Len raced upstairs to get changed. Robin fiddled with her phone as long as she reasonably could then buckled up and went into the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the counter where she looked up stagily from the Daily Mail crossword.

‘Hi.’ Robin dropped her jacket onto a stool then quickly picked it up again. ‘Mum, look, I’m sorry about this morning. When I was talking about money and … relationships, I didn’t mean to imply anything about your life. I just …’ Christine raised her eyebrows and the words dried up. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry.’

‘Is it okay if I put the TV on, Gran?’ came Lennie’s voice as she passed the doorway.

‘Of course, love. Would you like a biscuit?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘You sit on down, I’ll bring you one in.’ She stood up and got the tin out of the cupboard. ‘Let’s not say any more about it, Robin. We’re different, we do things differently. We know that, don’t we, after all these years?’

And there it was again, the drawbridge, chains clanking as her mother pulled it up, leaving her stranded on the other side. ‘No, please, can’t we …?’