‘You’re not lonely?’

‘Of course I’m lonely!’ It feels good to admit it. Because it feels so pitifully self-indulgent.

‘Then you need a companion at the very least.’

‘Why? You don’t have one.’

‘I have my birds,’ Helga says. ‘But you don’t want to end up like me.’

‘I’d be happy to end up like you,’ Dominica tells her, meaning it. ‘You’re independent and strong.’

‘But you’re too good a person not to love and be loved in return.’

‘I thought you didn’t believe in love,’ Dominica teases her.

‘What on earth gave you that idea?’

Emma bounds out of the mansion block as Dominica parks the car on the London street. She’s a shorter, female version of Chris and Dominica’s heart lurches with genuine love as she gets out of the car and Emma pulls her into a hug.

‘You came, you came,’ she cries. She smells of fabric softener and Dominica slumps for a moment against her voluptuous curves, feeling tears spring to her eyes too. It’s just so damn good to get a hug. Emma pulls away, wiping her eyes. ‘Oh, oh,’ she says, flapping her hand in front of her face. ‘Sorry. I just can’t help it. It’s so good to see you.’

‘Aunty Dominica,’ she hears, and now Cerys and the boys are bounding towards her too, and Dominica cries out with delight as they fling themselves at her. They have all grown an astonishing amount in the past months and it’s this – seeing Cerys with her front teeth missing – that makes Dominica realise how much time has passed without her noticing.

‘This is my friend, Helga,’ Dominica explains, once she’s hugged and kissed them, and Helga gets out of the car and they go towards the house.

‘What are your grandchildren called?’ Cerys asks, with her usual directness, as they walk up the path to the house and around the back to the garden.

‘Oh, I don’t have any grandchildren.’

Cerys’s blonde eyebrows crinkle up together in a frown. ‘You don’t? Why not?’

‘I made bad choices,’ Helga says. ‘It’s easy to do. You’ll find that out.’

Emma raises her eyebrows at Dominica.

‘So, what do you like doing?’ Cerys asks, confused, as if being Helga’s age can only involve tending to grandchildren.

‘Cerys,’ Emma scolds. ‘Don’t be nosy.’

‘It’s not nosy,’ Helga says. ‘It’s a good question.’

Cerys flashes a ‘told-you-so’ look at Emma.

Helga smiles. ‘I like birds. I like watching them and drawing them.’

‘We’ve got a bird box.’

‘I’d like to see it,’ Helga says gravely, and Cerys leads her away.

‘She’s quite a character, isn’t she? Your friend Helga. How old is she?’

‘I don’t know. Seventy something.’

She can see Emma is confused that they’re friends, when there’s such an age difference, but Dominica never notices it. She knows Emma will get it once she sees Helga in the water.

‘She’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but she’s a good friend. She’s had my back, since … well, you know …’