‘I would never ask you to betray her trust – that’s like reading her diary! I just need to know she’s OK. That she has someone, other than her old man who she can talk to, if she needs to. I’m sorry, Olive. Is that too much? I don’t mean to overstep the—’

‘No, don’t be silly. It’s fine, I’ll talk to her.’ I smooth his cheek and kiss him. We go back to watching the film in silence, my head on his chest.

The next day, after Caitlin comes back from a jog, I knock on her bedroom door and poke my head around into the room.

‘Hey,’ I say.

‘Hey.’ She doesn’t look up from her phone, curled up on her bed, in pyjamas, post-shower.

‘Can I come in?’ I ask.

‘Yup.’

‘Sooo, I was wondering. I have two free treatments at a new spa in central London. Do you fancy coming with? Could be fun?’

‘Is Dad going?’

‘Just us, I thought that would be nice?’

She hesitates a little. ‘OK, sure. Thanks.’ She goes straight back to her phone. Success. Ish. I’m so happy she’s agreed to come with me, but also nervous. What if we have nothing to talk about? What if she doesn’t like me?

I go downstairs, excited to tell Marcus that Caitlin has agreed to hang out. Sure, our exchange was short, but she said yes! I bounce down the stairs and he is sitting at the kitchen table, glasses on, doing a crossword.

‘She’s in. Next Saturday. Hopefully some bonding time.’

‘What? No way! You squirrel fast.’

‘Yes, well, I had some treatments at a really nice spa and was going to invite Colin but it would be lovely to go with Caitlin instead. Don’t tell Colin!’

‘Great. By the way, she struggles with any sort of public transport now and she will probably ask you for a step-by-step description on how to get somewhere and then home again – just warning you before she starts asking you endless questions.’

‘That’s totally fine. Good to know,’ I say, ruffling his hair.

‘I took her to a therapist a few years ago. They said her anxiety comes from a fear of change and being out of control. It’s apparently something to do with the rug being pulled from under her when her mother died, and so now she fears change.’

‘Yep, I get that,’ I say. I think about how Dad left suddenly, all the bruises from that.

‘I’m really glad she’s agreed to go out with you, I was pretty sure she’d find a way to say no.’

‘Don’t worry, she’ll be OK. I’ll talk to her too and check that she’s not struggling.’ It felt good to help. To have a new task at hand.

We arrive at the spa the next weekend. It’s called Glow Up, which sounds tackier than it looks. A woman wearing big pink furry slippers greets us at reception and gives us a key to a locker, plastic flipflops and a folded-up white robe each. She plonks it all into our arms.