Paula squeezed her mum’s hand, not wanting to insult her by joining in with them. ‘So, er . . . How did you leave things, Dad?’ she asked when a strained silence fell. ‘I mean – I take it we’re going to meet her, are we?’ She felt a weird shuddery sensation at her own question. Growing up with three brothers, she’d always longed for a sister in whom she could find an ally and confidante, but not a sister like this, thrust upon them without warning. ‘Is she . . . local?’ she added, not entirely sure what she wanted the answer to be.

Harry gave an uncomfortable shrug. ‘Well, that’s the problem,’ he confessed. ‘Everything happened so fast, we didn’t really get to say much more than hello to each other. I’ve no idea where she lives, I’m afraid.’

Jeanie’s eyes were like gimlets suddenly. ‘We needed to cut the cake,’ she said, a dangerous edge creeping into her voice. She wasn’t just upset, Paula realized with a jolt of alarm, she was boiling over with anger and humiliation.

‘But you’ve got a phone number for her, haven’t you, Dad?’ John put in. ‘Some contact details?’

Harry shook his head regretfully. ‘She’d gone before I could ask her,’ he admitted. ‘I don’t even know her last name. We’re just going to have to hope that she gets in touch with me. Otherwise . . .’ He spread his hands wide. ‘Otherwise we might never see her again.’

‘Well, good. Because I don’t want you to see her again,’ Jeanie said suddenly and they all turned to look at her. She was sitting up a little straighter now – regally even, you could say – and her chin was positively pointy with rage. ‘Do you hear me? I don’t want to hear so much as her name mentioned in this house again. Because it’s her or me, Harry Mortimer. Understand? It’s her or me.’

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The west-London flat where Frankie lived was on the fourth floor and the lift, as so often seemed to be the case when she was particularly tired, was out of order today. By the time she’d tramped up the stairs with her overnight bag, there was sweat beading on her forehead and her hair weighed hot and heavy on the back of her neck. The air was humid, the clouds huddled ominously above; you could feel the storm just waiting there on the horizon for its big, dramatic entrance.

‘Hello,’ she called, trudging through the front door and dropping her bag by her feet. She heard an excited yelp from Fergus, followed by an answering ‘Hi!’ from Craig. He’d rung her last night, but she hadn’t felt like discussing the awkward reunion on the phone with him, instead sending the call to voicemail and texting as a stopgap message: Knackered! Will tell you all tomorrow.