‘Hello?’ Amy calls out, her voice cracking.

There’s no reply. She takes a couple of steps towards the kitchen; a sliver of ice wedges itself at the base of her spine.

‘Anyone here?’ Matt says, dumping the children’s buckets and spades in a sandy heap by the door.

‘Mummy!’ Lotte’s voice is shrill, high-pitched with fright.

‘I’m coming! Where are you?’

Her daughter thunders down the stairs and hurls herself at her mother, sobbing.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

She hugs Lotte and then holds her slightly away from her, to try and work out what’s wrong with her. There’s a thin bead of blood running down her chin.

‘Lotte! What’s happened?’ Matt grips her arm. ‘Where’s Luca?’

‘My wobbly tooth came out!’

‘Oh!’ Amy almost collapses with relief. She wipes Lotte’s face with a tissue and crouches down in front of her. ‘Let’s see.’

Lotte pulls her lower lip down. The socket in her gum where her canine had been is filled with blood and Amy winces, although she knows it’s completely normal. Lotte shows her the tooth, like a misshapen pearl, cupped in the palm of her hand. She sobs harder. Amy hugs her tightly.

‘Does it hurt, sweetheart?’

Lotte shakes her head so vigorously that one of her tears splashes against Amy’s cheek.

‘The tooth fairy won’t be able to find me in Italy!’

‘Ah, I see. Well, maybe there are Italian tooth fairies,’ she says.

‘Oh!’ Lotte brightens. ‘Do you think so? Will she give me my money in euros?’

‘Course she will, sweetheart,’ says Matt, chucking her under the chin. ‘Why don’t you put your tooth somewhere safe and then we can leave it under your pillow tonight?’

Lotte’s eyes well up again. ‘If she speaks Italian, she won’t understand my note!’

‘You’re mixing her up with Father Christmas,’ says Matt. ‘You don’t need to write her a letter.’

‘What do the fairies do with all the teeth?’

Amy pauses. It’s grim when you think about it. She imagines a fairy palace made out of tiny human teeth, each one stolen from a child.

‘Where’s Theo?’

Lotte points at the window. She and Matt look out and see their son floating in the pool. He’s still and silent, his eyes are closed and his arms are spread out, his white-blond hair haloing his face as if he’s an angel. Luca is next to him, supporting him in the middle of his back with the palm of one hand. Sensing their presence, Luca looks up and smiles at them. The back of Matt’s hand brushes Amy, and for a fleeting moment they hold hands and watch their son, lying suspended in the midst of that rectangle of perfect blue.