Maddie moved a chair from the table, scraping the legs across the floor, and pushed the wheelchair into the space. Thomas looked up at Maddie, adoration in his brown eyes. ‘Cheers,’ he said.

‘You are most welcome, kind sir,’ Maddie said in a fake cockney accent, curtsying, before sitting down in the seat next to him.

Before Ruth could open her mouth, a woman of around thirty with red wavy hair to her shoulders, and a padded grass-green jacket, and jeans, opened the door and stepped in.

‘Amelia,’ Caroline said, fluttering her fingers. She patted the chair next to her. ‘Come and sit down, darling.’

‘You look nice, Mum,’ Amelia said heading towards Caroline. She kissed her mother’s cheek, and sat down beside her, unzipping her jacket, her eyes darting around the conservatory.

Caroline did look better than she had earlier, Ruth thought, with more colour in her cheeks, and a bobbed chestnut-brown wig that suited her.

‘Can I get anyone a wee drink?’ Ruth said. ‘Tap water is included; anything else is extra.’

‘A large white wine,’ Amelia said without looking at the menu.

‘A small glass for me, please,’ Maddie said.

‘Orange juice,’ Thomas said, and Ruth found her mind wandering. Had he been in a wheelchair since birth? She would need to find that out.

She moved her eyes to Jackson. ‘Lager,’ he said, smiling at her. He was far too handsome – it shouldn’t be allowed. ‘And a mineral water for Caroline,’ he added, as Caroline opened her mouth to speak and closed it again.

‘Nothing for me,’ Lark said, throwing down the menu. The lass couldn’t have been more than seventeen. All that black eyeliner and bright red lipstick was far too brazen, but there was no escaping her beauty – so like Kyla.

‘I’ll have a lager too, please, love,’ the older man said.

Ruth disappeared to the small bar area, and as she poured drinks, she picked up on the awkwardness behind her – the silences. This family were deeply troubled. This could get interesting.

Everyone but Lark began talking, and Ruth handed round the drinks, before making her way to the kitchen, returning five minutes later with Finn to hand out a silver platter of roast pork, and a tray of roast potatoes.

‘I’m veggie,’ Lark said brusquely.

‘I know, love, don’t worry.’ Ruth blew her damp fringe from her forehead, as she put down the serving dishes. ‘I’ve made you a quiche, love.’

‘Christ sake, I hate bloody quiche.’

‘Mum’s doing her best,’ Finn said, glaring at the girl.

Ruth touched his arm. ‘It’s fine, Finn.’ And making eye contact with Lark she said, with a smile, ‘You will enjoy my quiche, I promise.’