Paula snorted. ‘Sounds about right,’ she said. ‘Hey, by the way,’ she added, remembering her own recent discoveries, ‘do you want to see some more pictures of our mystery sister?’ She rummaged in her bag to retrieve her tablet and flicked it on. ‘I didn’t tell you, did I, but my friend Fliss recognized her, and I’ve found a way to get in touch.’ She told him the story, then showed him Frankie’s website and some of her artwork samples. ‘I’ve left a message with her agent, but I haven’t heard anything back yet. I hope we didn’t put her off last time. She sounds great.’

‘Bloody hell, she’s good, isn’t she?’ Dave said, flipping through the pictures of her work. ‘Living in London with a journalist . . . Christ, she’ll be disappointed when she finds out how boring us lot are,’ he joked.

‘Speak for yourself!’ Paula retorted, pretending to be offended, and then they both laughed, but it sounded hollow to her ears. The family’s falling apart this summer, Dave had said, and with her parents having so recently faltered, and now John breaking away, that left her, as the next-eldest, feeling responsible for pulling them all back together. She hoped she wouldn’t be making things worse now by getting in touch with their half-sister.

A few minutes later she looked up to see her mum and dad coming through the Arrivals door, tanned and smiling and – yes! – holding hands. ‘Oh, wow: here they are. That was quick!’ she cried, stuffing her iPad back in her bag and feeling a surge of relief at the sight of them.

‘Over here!’ Dave called, waving an arm above his head.

‘Look how brown Mum is,’ Paula exclaimed. ‘Whoa, and check out that hairdo,’ she added in a lower voice. She’d noticed that something had happened to her mother’s hair in the selfie picture her dad had texted, but hadn’t been able to make out the full effect until now. Was it unkind to say that it was a really bad haircut? This wasn’t Mum going through some crisis of her own, was it?

Paula hastily rearranged her features into a smile as her parents looked round and caught sight of them there. ‘Hi,’ she cried. ‘Welcome back!’

‘Oh, darling,’ Jeanie said, hurrying over and throwing her arms around her. She was wearing a new perfume, one Paula didn’t recognize, with a pastel-pink top and pale cropped trousers that showed off her tan. It was almost like hugging a stranger for a moment, somebody else’s mum. Except for the fact that then Jeanie was clucking apologetically about ignoring her on the phone all those times.

‘Oh, Mum,’ Paula said in response, assuring her that it didn’t matter and there was no harm done. ‘Did you have a lovely holiday, though?’ she asked, trying to move on to something cheerier. ‘The longest holiday ever!’