Angelica heads for the driver’s side, but we steer her into the passenger seat instead.

‘It’s OK, Mummy,’ Casey says, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her use that babyish name, ‘you can sleep for the journey. And I’ll be behind you, in the back. I’ll be holding your hand.’

The Friday afternoon traffic means the journey takes for ever, and I daren’t turn on the radio or even talk to Casey, in case it disturbs her mum. Angelica dozes most of the way, her neck bent, half waking when we go over bumps, but never enough to ask why I’m there, or where we’re going.

The Ka is tinny, and although the interior is spotless, the strange noises the car makes suggest it hasn’t been serviced or well maintained. Which, knowing Angelica’s usual attitude to danger, must be because she’s short of money.

I follow the satnav off the motorway and round the fringes of a couple of big towns before we get into proper countryside. It reminds me of Somerset, but lusher and greener, with dark hills hemming us in.

I catch Casey’s eye in the rear-view mirror. She looks expectant and I wonder why, until I realize it matters to her what I think of where she lives.

‘Lovely,’ I mouth back, though the truth is that the empty terrain scares me. I need people around me. Noise.

The centre of the village is no more than a church, a pub and a general store, with the bus shelter that must be the only point of escape. The buildings are sturdy rather than charming. The maps app directs me instead.

‘Here, on the left.’ She points towards a row of buildings, then touches her mother gently on the shoulder. ‘You can wake up now, Mum, we’re home.’

I get out. There are three brick cottages and I try to guess which is theirs. The one with the murky net curtains shielding each pane from non-existent passers-by? Or the neater one on the end, with pretty window boxes?

But when I get the bags out, Casey is guiding her mum past the houses, towards a single-storey chalet-style building I hadn’t even noticed. From a distance it’s cute, like something from a cartoon. But the overgrown front garden has a path of slimy flagstones that leads to a scuffed front door. The whole building looks uncared for.

Is it about money? I don’t pay a fortune in support, but surely there’s enough for the basics? And Angelica’s family is well off. Why isn’t her father stepping up to help maintain the place?

Casey glances back at me, her eyes narrowed, almost like she’s daring me to judge her – judge them.

I slap on a cheerful smile as she takes the keys out of her mum’s handbag and unlocks the door.

Chapter 18: Gemma

Saturday 14 July

Whenever I’m wavering about the future, Isabel always gets me back on track.

As I search for an elusive parking space on the crowded streets near her house, I know I need a dose of her positivity. It’s still hot, but the air in Bath seems more refined than in Bristol. I thought a change of scene might give me a break from all the thoughts about Dan.