Good old Harry. Her dad! They’d had such a great time together at the cricket back in September, it had felt really easy and companionable. He’d been lovely to Craig and Fergus, insisting on making them all toad-in-the-hole and mash for dinner one night – his speciality, apparently. He was trying to learn a new dish every month, he’d explained: ‘Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.’ What was especially nice for Frankie was the fact that he was one of the few people in her life who’d known her mother as a young woman, and who could tell her funny stories about impetuous, rule-breaking Kathy, which felt like bonus prizes to Frankie. They’d already arranged for Harry to come down again and stay for a couple of days in the New Year, and she was looking forward to it very much. ‘Anything you need in the meantime,’ he’d told her, ‘you just ask me, okay? You’ve got thirty-four years’ worth of favours stored up with the Bank of Dad, after all. Ask away!’

Closer to home, things were settling down a bit, following the tumultuous summer they’d had. Fergus had started school and was exhausted half the time – on the second day he’d been horrified that he was expected to don his uniform and head off to the reception class once more (‘What, I have to go again?’ he’d asked in scandalized tones) – but he was now in the swing of things and seemed to be looking forward to the nativity play at the end of term, judging by the way he was singing Christmas songs around the flat at any opportunity. It was odd, having him out all day, though; the place felt weirdly quiet and empty without him, but the flipside was that she and Craig were getting so much more work done, with the extra free time, that they were almost too busy to notice.