When she arrived in the kitchen for dinner later that evening, though, there was something in the air. Her parents exchanged glances as they sat down, and Pip knew at once there was something they wanted to say.

She didn’t have to wait long.

‘Your dad and I have been talking,’ her mother began as she served the fish pie on to three plates.

‘Oh yes?’ replied Pip shortly, without looking up.

‘Well . . .’ her mother continued doubtfully.

She paused, and a heavy silence hung over the table. Pip waited for her to spit whatever it was out. She hated the fact that they must have been talking about her when she wasn’t there, hated that there was anything to talk about.

‘It’s just,’ her mother tried again. ‘We were thinking that, maybe . . .’ Her mother’s eyes found Pip’s father’s, and she gave him an imploring look.

He seemed to take the hint and picked up the baton. ‘What your mum’s trying to say is that we were wondering whether now would be a good time to have a bit of a chat about your plans. For the future,’ he clarified.

What plans? Pip had no immediate plans, other than to retreat to her room and read the diary.

‘It’s just that with . . . Well, with everything that happened at the weekend, we thought maybe we should go down and collect your things, bring them back home. Obviously you could move back to London, if you wanted to, eventually.’

‘Of course I’m moving back to London,’ Pip snapped. ‘I can’t stay here.’

Her words came out more harshly than they ought to have done, and Pip saw hurt cut across her mother’s face.

‘No, no. Of course you can’t,’ her mother agreed, pivoting on the spot and following Pip’s lead. ‘We know that. But just for now, just whilst you’re getting better.’

‘We don’t want you having the stress of finding a new flat, not at the moment,’ her father added. ‘How about me and Jez go down in the van, collect your bits and pieces and bring it all back here for now?’

‘It’s not fair to leave all your things with poor Dominic,’ her mother said.

Pip pressed her lips together to stop herself from screaming at them. Poor Dominic? Poor Dominic! Would this be the same Dominic who had kicked her when she was at her lowest ebb, who had abandoned her without a second thought for all her hopes and dreams?

But what would be the point of exploding at her parents? They were trying to do what they thought was best for her, and she was going to have to retrieve her belongings sooner or later. It might be less painful if her father did it for her.

So she swallowed hard and said, ‘That would be great, Dad. Thanks.’ Then she put her knife and fork down and got to her feet. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t got much of an appetite. I think I’ll go upstairs for a bit of a lie-down,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks for dinner, Mum.’