The children started singing their goodbye song, their sweet, high voices wavering in and out of tune adorably and Frankie fumbled for a tissue, as tears misted her eyes. Look at Fergus forgetting the words as he grinned over at them both, that orange paper hat perched at such a jaunty angle on his curls. After this song the children would be collecting their ‘graduation’ certificates and memory books from the staff, before sitting down for a final picnic lunch together, of cheese sandwiches and crisps and apple slices. Then they would be saying goodbye and leaving this place for the very last time.

Frankie had never been good when it came to dealing with change. Aged six, she’d apparently lain on the floor, weeping and trying to clutch at the carpet, the day she and her mum moved house, practically needing to be dragged over the threshold. Aged eleven, she had refused to speak to Gareth for three whole weeks when her mum started seeing him, so resistant was she to any upsetting of the status quo. As an adult, she hung on to old knackered items of clothing if they reminded her of happy days, even if she had no intention of ever wearing them again. The same went for ancient sketchpads, favourite (broken) pens, her mother’s tarnished jewellery . . .

She tried to concentrate on the song, to really be present in the moment, but her thoughts were being pulled in all directions. For someone who disliked change, she was coming up against it again and again this summer, she thought, ambushed by one surprise after another. Change kept sending her down new paths she didn’t want to take, forcing her into situations she’d rather avoid, jostling her out of her comfortable, cosy existence and leaving her in this wilderness of doubt and uncertainty. What with the disastrous encounter with the Mortimers and the no-holds-barred battle with Julia, she was beginning to wonder where she’d end up by the time the first autumn leaves were on the trees. When would life start to feel more normal again?

Up in the North, Robyn was lying on her sofa staring up at the ceiling. Life did not exactly feel normal for her, either. It was her day off and usually she’d have a list of at least ten things to be getting on with. Today, however, she simply did not have the energy for cleaning or supermarket shopping or changing bed-sheets. All she wanted to do was lie down and let the world carry on around her.