‘There’s a national holiday tomorrow – Ferragosto,’ she says. ‘The police station will be closed for some kind of fete in the town. We should phone now, if we’re going to report it.’

‘Bloody hell, you Flowers are daft!’ says Matt. ‘First of all, if there’s a festival, the police will be there. They can’t shut the police station! And second, you probably left it lying around somewhere, Chloe. You’re so careless of your possessions. I’ve got a good mind to confiscate it when we do find it.’

‘Matt!’ Amy notices Lotte and Theo creeping down the stairs behind him. She hopes they didn’t hear him swearing.

‘What did I tell you? My iPad has been stolen and he doesn’t even care,’ Chloe shouts at Amy. ‘He’s a horrible father, and I wish he wasn’t my dad.’

She strides into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Amy’s headache has spread; it’s a dull throbbing across the whole of her forehead.

‘Anyone want a cup of tea?’ asks her father.

‘I was thinking of something stronger,’ Amy says, as she pulls a bottle of cold white wine out of the fridge.

‘I’m hungry,’ Lotte says.

Matt starts assembling bread and cheese for their lunch. Lotte and Theo huddle together on the sofa and start playing something on their own iPad.

Joe pushes his hair behind his ears and looks suddenly awkward. ‘Thank you for having me here. I know it’s not the best time for you. And having a stranger with you must be—’ He stops.

She flushes. How did he guess what she was thinking? Has she made it obvious? And how awful, if she has. This is not like her; at least, not how she used to be. A year ago she was a warm and caring person. How fragile our sense of self is, she thinks.

‘We’ve liked having you,’ she says, trying to dredge up something of the woman she once was.

‘Yeah, so, er… I’m leaving early tomorrow morning. I thought I’d say thank you now, and I’ll see you back in Bristol,’ he adds, giving her a hug and shaking Matt’s hand. ‘Don’t want to wake you when I leave.’

‘Luca is going the day after tomorrow too,’ Matt says. ‘We won’t know what to do with ourselves.’ His sudden good cheer sounds false.

‘Right, then.’ Joe claps his hands together and bounces on his toes. ‘Well, I’m not off just yet. David, you up for a superfood salad? Got to get some omega-threes in you.’

‘A super-salad?’ mutters her dad. ‘I’m not sure I like salad. All that chewing. And it doesn’t taste of anything.’

Amy takes a sip of her wine and feels as if she’s floating a couple of inches above the floor, as the cold, crisp Pinot mingles with the spirits already in her bloodstream.