He responded with one of his volcanic outbursts. ‘For fuck’s sake, Mam, get off my case. I’m not a kid. I can decide for myself what I’m going to wear.’ The sudden temper reminded her of Rob and for a moment she shrank from him. Then he saw that he’d scared her and was smiling and apologetic. ‘Look, nobody at school would steal anything from me, and I’ll look after it.’ He kissed her before he went through the door. Teenagers, she thought. They’re like toddlers with hormones.

The house was quiet. The only visitor booked in before Christmas was George Enderby for one night on his way south from Scotland. Kate Dewar felt lighter, somehow frivolous, as if she’d shed a burden of responsibility. And she had to admit that Margaret’s death had something to do with that. She’d loved Margaret to bits of course, and had depended on her, but after the first shock of knowing that she was dead, she realized how much she’d cared what Margaret thought. She’d always felt that Margaret was judging her. About the way she ran the guest house, the way she was bringing up the kids, even the way she dressed. Her relationship with Stu. Nothing was ever said, but she’d wanted Margaret to approve. If Ryan slipped out of the house without saying where he was going, if there was a complaint from a visitor about something to do with their stay at the guest house, or if Chloe had one of her strops, Kate’s first thought was for Margaret’s reaction. What would she make of it?

Now Kate felt wild and silly. She wondered if she could phone up a couple of friends and suggest they go out for lunch. A trip to Newcastle, an Italian meal, too much wine. She imagined herself staggering back on the Metro, too tipsy to care if Chloe was working herself to death. Stuart would be out at an end-of-term dinner with his colleagues tonight and she wouldn’t see him until the morning. But the first friend she tried had sounded as if Kate was quite mad. ‘Newcastle? The week before Christmas? It’ll be a total nightmare. Besides, I’m rushed off my feet.’ So Kate felt deflated again. Perhaps, after all, she should be sensible. She should do the Christmas preparation. Bake mince pies for the freezer. Ice the cake. Wrap some of the kids’ presents while they were out of the way.