Perhaps seeing Tor’s raised eyebrow as an invite for such delicious insubordination, her mum resorts to an age-old tactic.

‘So you’re still purple,’ she says, nodding at Tor’s hair.

This is a typical Rita Hathaway move, Tor thinks, remembering all at once that whenever they’re alone, her mother always puts a little barb out there first. Often to do with Tor’s fashion or life choices. Criticisms that she reserves for when they’re alone, granted, but criticisms nevertheless.

Perhaps it was because she wanted to dress up her little girl twins like matching dollies – and whilst Alice was always so happy to comply, Tor deliberately sabotaged any efforts for them to look the same.

‘Lotte did it,’ Tor says. ‘My housemate.’

Her heartbeat quickens. This is it. She’s going to say something.

‘She’s a hairdresser,’ she adds.

Her mum frowns and makes a noise, as if to say Lotte can’t be a very good hairdresser and Tor kicks herself mentally for getting off on the wrong tack.

‘It’s such fun, you know, living in the house with her …’

Tor stops as her brother-in-law appears, waggling a bottle for a refill. Graham’s wearing red chinos and tan suede shoes with tassels on them and no socks, along with a green jumper with a little logo of a polo player. Her mum puts her hand over her glass. Her cheeks are already flushed, but Graham nudges her hand aside and she simpers at his cheekiness.

‘Come on, Rita. We’re celebrating. Isn’t it wonderful to be together at last?’

He picks up on Tor’s look. ‘Sorry. Did I interrupt something.’

‘Tor was just talking about her housemates.’

‘Housemates?’ Graham says, pulling a face. ‘Still living like a student, then? At nearly forty. My advice would be to get out of that terrible dive.’

‘It’s not terrible,’ Tor says, offended. ‘And it’s not a dive. Those Edwardian houses have loads of space and potential.’ She feels empowered quoting Maddy.

‘But a shared house really isn’t a home. Not a proper home.’ Graham looks to Rita for confirmation. Why won’t her mother defend her?

‘That’s easier said than done. Rents are extortionately high where I live.’

‘Then live somewhere cheaper.’

‘I don’t want to. I want to be close to work. And to the sea.’

‘Oh, the sea, yes,’ her mum says in a panic, her look darting between Graham and Tor. She can’t bear conflict and Tor longs to ask her how she can stand the sight of Graham, when he makes her skin crawl so much. ‘How’s the swimming going, darling?’

Her mum gives her a desperate smile. Behind her Graham gives Tor a look, as Alice comes over.

‘Good, thank you. I go most days.’

‘You lunatic,’ Alice says, draping herself over Graham’s shoulder. Tor feels them looming over her.

‘I bet you’re into all that tides and moon cycles stuff?’ Graham says, as if Tor is crazy.

‘I read an article in Good Housekeeping. People say that swimming is very addictive,’ her mum says and, caught between Tor and Alice and Graham, adds, ‘I tell people that you go every day.’ Tor knows she means well, but the way she says it only makes it sound like she, too, tells her friends that Tor is crazy. Or, if not crazy, then unfathomably quirky.