“Gran, we’re thirsty! Mia says she saw lemonade in the fridge!”

They stare at her, smiling and impish, and Audrey cannot help but laugh. “I may have some. But only for girls who promise to be really good for the rest of the afternoon.”

They nod in unison, staring at her with round, earnest eyes.

“Come on then. I’ll get you both a glass.”

The girls clutch one another’s hands and skip toward her, bare knees lifting at right angles beneath Mia’s floral dress and Phoebe’s navy shorts. They sit down next to each other at Audrey’s kitchen table, legs swinging, faces flushed from the midsummer heat, and for a split second it is as though time has reversed and her own little girls are sitting in the kitchen, grinning at one another with collusive smiles.

Audrey studies them while trying not to stare. She does not want to unnerve them, not when they are so relaxed in one another’s company. But it is strange seeing them together for the first time. For so long she has imagined what it might be like to have her two grandchildren in the same room, but until today it has been nothing more than a fantasy.

Phoebe gurgles the last of her lemonade through her straw and Mia copies her, the two of them eyeing one another and giggling, their smiles so similar it is as though one has been molded from the other. Audrey had known, before the girls met today, that their resemblance was uncanny, but it is only now seeing them side by side that she truly appreciates the similarities: the same sleek dark hair; the same questioning green eyes; the same porcelain skin. A stranger in the street would mistake them for twins, not cousins.

Audrey glances down at her watch—5:50 p.m.—trying not to think about how the coming minutes may unfold.

“Right, ladies, would you like to go outside for a last play? Your mums will be here soon.”

Mia and Phoebe hop off the wooden chairs and grab each other’s hands. They run out of the back door and onto the lawn, bending down on all fours to prowl through the grass like lions, occasionally roaring at each other or stopping to nuzzle with an easy affection that tugs at Audrey’s heart.

She looks down at her watch again. She does not know who will arrive first—Lily or Jess—but if she had to hazard a guess she would assume Lily. Even though Jess is the more protective, and Lily has the higher-profile career, it is Lily who is punctual and precise. In all the years Audrey has been taking care of Mia—after school, during the holidays, at weekends—she can think of few occasions when Jess hasn’t been late to collect her.

Audrey clears away the girls’ lemonade glasses and throws the straws into the bin, wondering when Mia and Phoebe might next sit together at her kitchen table. It is the summer holidays and she does not have to return to work at the school library until the week before Mia and Phoebe return to their respective schools in September. Feasibly she could look after them both every day. She already has Mia throughout the school holidays—one more grandchild would be no problem. It would, in fact, be a delight. She begins to imagine all the things the three of them could do together: trips to London Zoo, the Natural History Museum, the National Gallery; picnics at the seaside, the park, Kew Gardens; exploring the wide open spaces of Cliveden, Polesden Lacey, Hatchlands Park, all the National Trust properties Audrey rarely visits because there is too much melancholy in going alone. A fantasy about how the summer might unfold plays out in Audrey’s head, accompanied by visions of her granddaughters laughing, the sun gleaming against their dark hair, their years of separation melting away.