She looked so small and solitary, standing in the doorway with the light falling across her face. Adrian wanted to take her by her thin shoulders and look into her grey eyes and say to her: we fucked everything up, didn’t we? I fucked up and at last I’m sorry. This wasn’t the way it should have been. I should have cherished you. But what was the point, after all? Everything was done and their story was finished.

‘There was no space,’ he said instead. ‘I’ve parked the car down the road. Aggie’s asleep in the back, and the girls are just getting their things out of the boot.’

‘Good.’

She smiled at him and tears filled both their eyes.

‘They’re wretchedly tired after the flight. They might be a bit …’

‘Yes. It’ll be all right.’

She looked over his shoulder towards the road. There was Sasha and, several feet behind her, Clem, struggling towards her, herded by Frankie. Who had, she saw, an unmistakably rounded tummy and, as she came nearer, the secret bloom of pregnancy on her face.

‘I should have said; I know I should have told you but …’

‘It doesn’t matter. I think I knew anyway.’

‘Irene …’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

She walked towards her daughters, then broke into a run. Sasha wore jeans and a new tee-shirt, with a picture of a kangaroo on the front. Her hair was neatly plaited, and a brightly patterned sun hat was perched on her head. She looked fresh and tidy, though as she approached, Irene saw little purple smudges under her eyes. Irene opened her arms and Sasha walked daintily into them, putting one hand onto her hat to keep it in place. Irene felt her daughter’s rib bones, her tiny breasts, pressed like buds against her. Her skin smelt of soap and after-sun lotion.

‘Hello, Mummy,’ said Sasha.

‘Hello, honey. You’re so …’ So what? So thin, so precious, so grown up, so terrifying. ‘You’re so welcome home,’ she made do with. Over Sasha’s shoulder, she saw Clem break into a jagged run, her backpack dragging on the pavement behind her. Her face was a ruddy brown, her hair stood up in spikes; a chocolate smear ran from cheekbone to jaw.

‘Clem! Clemmie!’

‘Look!’ Clem stopped short and, bending down, opened her backpack in a frenzy of impatience. ‘Look at what I’ve got.’

She pulled a chunky wooden box out and pulled open the stiff lid. A shell fell out and rolled onto the pavement; its pink spiral broke into gritty fragments as they watched.

‘Clem,’ said Irene squatting down beside her. ‘Shall we look at that inside, rather than here?’

‘No! Look! Look! It’s somewhere here. Oh here, my ostrich feather. I held a koala; you have to see.’