Maybe it was Graham Westbury’s copious praise. Maybe it was her chat with her mother the night before. Maybe it was the way Lorcan had danced with Clara. Maybe it was just that she was incredibly grateful to have the people in her life that she did. True friends who stood by her and were fiercely loyal, who believed in her in a more genuine way than Ewan McLachlan. Maybe it was that she realised they’d always believed in her, even when she hadn’t believed in herself.

Having showered and dressed, Jo sat at the kitchen table and ate toast, washed down with coffee, while Clara dipped soldiers into a soft-boiled egg.

‘This is my most favouritist breakfast,’ Clara declared as a long, gloopy drip of yolk ran from the edge of her piece of toast and landed on her pyjama top.

‘I like that one too. But I also like waffles and syrup with blueberries and raspberries,’ Jo said.

‘And strawberries!’ Clara declared.

‘Yes, of course strawberries! Now, I think we’d both better hurry up and finish or we won’t have time to get dressed and ready.’

Clara nodded, her expression serious. ‘Eat your breakfast, brush your teeth, get dressed, put on your shoes and brush your hair!’

‘Yes, boss,’ Jo said. ‘Thank you for reminding me.’

Her mum’s voice carried in from the hall. ‘Clara, you better tell Jo to be quick or she’ll end up walking you to school wearing just a T-shirt and knickers with a towel wrapped round her head.’

It seemed that the word ‘knickers’ was the most hilarious thing Clara had ever heard and when Jo did in fact go upstairs to pull on a pair of skinny jeans and her red Converse, she could still hear Clara laughing as she repeated ‘knickers’ over and over again.

Days like these were good, Jo thought, and again it crossed her mind how she would miss their morning routine when she found her own place to live. She really should have a good look online to see what was available or she would end up sleeping in a cardboard box in a shop doorway.

With her denim jacket over her arm, and Clara’s school bag checked, they set off, Jo’s mind filled with her requirements for a new abode.

‘Jo,’ Clara said, ‘is Lorcan coming for tea tonight?’

‘I don’t know, sweetheart. He might have plans.’

‘But when I said to him to come tonight, he didn’t say he had plans,’ she said earnestly, ‘so he has to come to tea.’

It crossed Jo’s mind that Lorcan might just have been being polite and didn’t really want to come to dinner with the three Campbell women. ‘Well, I’ll ask him and see what he says,’ Jo offered. ‘But he is a very busy man.’