This was the downside of having a small family, she mused, rinsing a saucepan: not enough people to turn to in a crisis. You always wanted a brother or a sister, didn’t you? her mum had written in that final letter, and Frankie thought guiltily again of her dad, Harry Mortimer, and those four mystery half-siblings, who might hate her now. She still hadn’t managed to write any kind of letter herself, what with all the drama of Julia’s arrival. Oh, hi there, Mortimer gang, I’m Frankie. Christ, it’s a nightmare when someone bursts into your happy family unannounced and stirs everything up, isn’t it? Sorry, guys. Any advice, by the way?

Scrubbing at the burned-on cheesy sauce bits around the rim of the lasagne dish, she thought about Julia and Fergus and Craig, and the seemingly impossible tangle they were in. What would her mum have said about it, had she still been around to advise? Frankie had the strong feeling she’d have been more generous to Julia, for starters. Kathy had been a staunch supporter of women in general – when Frankie was growing up, there was always a steady stream of her female friends dropping by for tea and sympathy, and sometimes even a place to stay when the going got tough. If Kathy was alive now, Frankie was sure she wouldn’t have been so quick to cast Julia as the villain of the piece; she’d have responded with compassion rather than fear. ‘Poor woman,’ Frankie could imagine her saying. ‘Sounds like she’s had a rough time. Why does Craig think he has to punish her for it? Why can’t he give her a break?’

Why indeed? Frankie thought, putting the dish upside down on the draining board. In her position, her mum might even have gone behind Craig’s back, telephoned Julia, tried to sort it out, woman-to-woman. Knowing Kathy, she’d have talked her round as well; they’d have come up with a plan that suited everyone, before popping open a bottle of wine and drinking to the future. But Frankie was not so bold and brave as her mother had been. Was she?

She washed up the last saucepan and gave the salad bowl a rinse, still thinking. She could hear Fergus giggling hysterically from the bathroom where Craig was giving him a bath, and felt her heart soften for them both. She remembered one of the first columns Craig had ever written about Fergus, which had essentially been a love-letter, a promise: I will never let you down, son, he had written. I am on your side, fighting your corner, come what may.