‘She said that? No!’ Jeanie said, looking aghast. ‘Where did she get that idea from? Oh – thank you,’ she said, as the waitress appeared just then with their tea tray. ‘Lovely. Gosh, I did miss my tea while I was away. It’s not the same, is it, tea on holiday? Not as good as the real thing.’

They busied themselves pouring drinks and adding milk, then Paula braced herself to wheel out the big question. ‘How’s it going with you and Dad, then?’ she asked, picking an almond off the top of her warm Fat Rascal scone and posting it into her mouth. ‘How are you finding the return back to normal life? Tell me he’s done the dishes a few times. Made you another cheese omelette, even?’

Jeanie gave a small smile as she buttered her teacake. ‘Breakfast in bed, the other morning,’ she replied. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what you said to him, but he’s become very helpful around the place. As for the two of us . . . well, we’re getting there. We’ve talked about –’ she hesitated, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words – ‘his affair, and this woman who claims to be his daughter . . .’

‘I’m pretty sure she is, Mum,’ Paula said gently.

‘And we’re just trying to get on with things now. There are only so many times you can hear your husband yapping plaintively on about how sorry he is, before it gets right on your wick. So I’ve said okay and never mind, and all the rest of it. But the thing is, Paula . . .’

The children at the next table were now whacking each other on their helmets with plastic Viking swords, and Paula had to lean in closer to hear. ‘Yes?’ she asked apprehensively, cutting her scone in half.

‘The thing is . . .’ Jeanie repeated, putting a hand up to her face suddenly, as if in shame. ‘You’re going to think me a terrible person now. But the truth is, I didn’t behave very well on holiday myself.’

‘STOP THAT THIS MINUTE,’ the woman on the next table hissed just then, snatching swords off her children and shoving them out of reach. (Paula always rather loved seeing unruly children and harassed parents out in public; it never failed to make her feel better about her own mothering skills, or lack of.) Then Jeanie’s words percolated through the clamour.

‘What do you mean?’ Paula asked. ‘What did you do?’ she went on, when no reply came. ‘Mum?’

Jeanie sighed. ‘I had a lot of fun, put it like that,’ she said, sipping her tea. ‘Perhaps . . .’ Her hand trembled as she set the cup down. ‘Perhaps rather too much fun.’