‘Er . . .’ There was a short pause. ‘I’m not gonna lie, it was a massive shock,’ came the candid reply. ‘To all of us. But I’ve just seen Mum for a catch-up and yeah, she’s getting used to the idea.’

‘Good,’ Frankie said. ‘And your dad? How does he feel?’ Her breath caught in her lungs while she waited for the response.

‘He’s one hundred per cent chuffed,’ Paula said. ‘Well, apart from the bit when Mum threatened to leave him, and all the rest of it – but even then, he was telling me he wanted to meet you, and how fab your mum was. He didn’t mention that to my mum, obviously, but . . . long story. So anyway, you’re fine by us. And don’t worry about turning up, like you did. I’m not sure a letter would have been any better. You’ve got guts – that’s a good thing!’

‘Thank you,’ Frankie said, and it was as if a weight she hadn’t even known was there had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘That’s really—’

But Paula was laughing. ‘Oh God, here he comes,’ she said. ‘My husband, I mean. He’s practically sprinting up the road with this enormous box . . . what a chump he is, honestly. Listen, I’d better go. So bloody lovely to speak to you, though! I’m just made up, really I am. And we’ll speak again soon, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Frankie. ‘Lovely to talk to you, too. Bye, Paula.’

She ended the call and flopped back on the bed, beaming up at the ceiling. Oh my goodness. What a gift of a conversation. What an absolute win! She had a sister, who looked like her, and sounded so nice and funny and friendly. She had a dad, who wanted to meet her, and who still spoke fondly of her mum – as well as three older brothers into the bargain. This whole extra helping of family that she hadn’t gone looking for, that had just come her way. Maybe her mum had been right to break cover with her letter, after all. And maybe, despite her fears, Frankie hadn’t ruined her chances with the Mortimers, either.

The door burst open just then and in rushed Fergus, with tomato sauce all round his mouth. ‘I had bersketti,’ he said happily, his word for spaghetti, which Frankie always found completely endearing.

‘I can see,’ she laughed. ‘Whoa – not on the bed, with those mucky chops, tomato-boy. Let’s go and clean you up.’ She jumped off to grab him, then scooped him up and twirled him around. ‘Oh, the world’s a good place, isn’t it, Ferg?’ she said, feeling insanely cheerful all of a sudden.

‘Yes, Mumma,’ he agreed. Then, as she stopped twirling, ‘Again! Again!’