‘That sounds like a good idea to me, Willow,’ said Mum. ‘You girls and I can put our feet up and enjoy a slice of that cake I made.’

‘Well, I for one could murder a beer,’ said Rick approvingly.

Tom and Ellis looked less keen; perhaps Tom was anxious he’d miss out on Mum’s chocolate cake.

But Martha urged him to go. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘go and enjoy some non-baby talk. Because that’s what we’ll be doing for the rest of the evening.’

‘Bring me back some salt and vinegar crisps,’ Willow called to Rick as they parted company.

‘I have crisps at home,’ said Mum.

‘But they’ll be those Kettle crisps. Or those healthy baked vegetable ones, which never quite hit the spot.’

‘I thought you liked them?’

‘Nothing beats a proper salt and vinegar crisp, Mum. Nothing.’ ‘Especially when you’re pregnant,’ said Martha with a smile. ‘I’ll make a note of that,’ Mum said, linking her arms through Willow’s and Martha’s as they continued walking home.

It made Willow think of the day when they had walked to St Saviour’s for Dad’s funeral service. When it was over, and sitting in painful silence in the back of a large black car that smelt cloyingly of pine, they had followed behind the hearse that carried Dad’s body to the crematorium in Chichester.

She could not say hand-on-heart that she had loved her father, certainly not in the same way that Martha or Mum had, but his death had saddened Willow. Perhaps because she hated to see her sister so upset, their mother too.

Willow had always been conscious that she could never please her father the way Martha did. In fact, the last time she had seen him he’d had a go at her for not sticking at yet another job.

‘You don’t stick at anything, do you, Willow?’ he’d said. ‘For the life of me I don’t understand your mindset. Is it because you always think you can drift back home if things get really bad? Because let me tell you, you’ll get nowhere in life thinking like that. You have to accept that you need to stand on your own two feet. You have to take responsibility for yourself. Like Martha.’

It had taken him longer than usual to get to those two little words. Like Martha. They had been flung at her for as long as she could remember; the constant comparison to her big sister. Willow never blamed Martha for being the poster-girl for perfection. She had only to imagine herself in her sister’s shoes and think how hard it must be to be so perfect – the one who always studied hard and achieved A-stars for everything – for her to be glad she was the very imperfect sister.

No, not for a single minute did Willow resent Martha for being the apple of their father’s eye. Goodness, she was far happier being the also-ran of the family, when nothing was really expected of her.