Tobey was back to being PM and all was right in his world. He was at work again and already making his mark. The guy was in the news practically every other day. Not that I paid much attention to his political doings, but a number of high-ranking officials had been arrested for fraud and corruption under his watch and he was spending vast amounts of taxpayers’ money on improving the health service, properly resourcing schools, providing free school meals to all those who couldn’t afford them and actively seeking to reduce Albion’s carbon footprint. According to Callie, it wasn’t making him popular with the traditionalists and a number of influential big businesses. Callie and Tobey thought I hadn’t noticed, but over the last month our security detail had been stepped up. Libby and I were now escorted to school by two close-protection officers rather than one and, if we left the house, we always had an escort. Always. I didn’t mind that. Libby did. I’d take being escorted everywhere over another dank basement any and every day of the week.

Callie had taken a year’s sabbatical from her job and her permanent home was now with Meggie, Libby and me. Tobey lived in his town apartment during the week and came home at weekends – and Callie appeared OK with that. She sometimes spent weekdays with Tobey in his apartment, more and more frequently of late. But not all the time. Strange way to start married life, but she and Tobey insisted they were totally OK with it. Callie was even OK with having security actually living in our house twenty-four-seven and she usually loathed that kind of thing.

Libby and I both kicked at the snow, watching it fan upwards before us, deep in thought.

‘Callie and my dad – d’you think they love each other?’ asked Libby from out of nowhere.

‘Would they have got married if they didn’t?’

Libby gave me a studied look. My cheeks grew warm as she scrutinized me.

‘What?’ I frowned.

Libby shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

But something was eating at her.

‘What?’ I asked again.

‘How about the two of us doing something to help them spend more time together?’ she said. ‘It can’t be much fun for either of them with Dad in town five days a week. He only gets to see us at weekends.’

Ah, so that’s what was playing on her mind.

‘Libby, if my sister is OK with it, then what’s the problem?’ I said.

‘Couldn’t we do something to help?’

‘Like what?’

‘I dunno.’ Libby’s eyes lit up. ‘Maybe I could pretend to be ill so he’d come home more often—’

Ohmigod! ‘Liberty, don’t you dare.’ I grimaced. ‘I’m not mucking around. Don’t even think about pulling a stunt like that.’

‘But I want to help—’