Monday came around and, having dropped Fergus at playgroup first thing, Frankie was able to turn her thoughts to the work she had planned for the next few hours. She’d been in touch with a possible new client, the head of art at a decent-sized greetings-card company, and had been asked to pitch ideas for new designs. She was currently mulling over the concept of a range of cards featuring a family of dragons, and had been making quick doodles in her notebook over the weekend: of scaly tails and rounded ribbed bellies, magnificent wings and fiery nostrils. Everyone loved dragons, right? Especially the fat, funny ones of her imaginings. Now she needed to translate her thoughts into some preliminary sketches, bold and bright, in the hope that the client would be keen.

The postman must have called while she was out, because there was an envelope on the mat, addressed to Craig. There was something about the thickness of it, the classy starched feel of the paper, that made her glance at it again as she walked through to the kitchen. The postmark bore a north-London code and there was a company name she didn’t recognize franked alongside: Hargreaves and Winter. It sounded like a law firm, she thought worriedly, dropping the letter down by Craig. ‘One for you,’ she said.

He was already at the table, frowning at his laptop as he tussled with the opening sentences of a book review for the newspaper’s Culture section. ‘Ta,’ he mumbled, considering his screen for a moment and then resuming typing again, eyes narrowed.

Frankie hesitated. Her big sketchpad and coloured pencils were calling her, but she couldn’t help flicking another glance at that envelope, about which she suddenly had a bad feeling. ‘Maybe you should open that,’ she said. ‘It looks important. I can’t help worrying—’ She broke off, not wanting to tempt fate by saying the words out loud. She was probably over-thinking things, leaping to the wrong conclusion, after all. Wasn’t she?

Craig glanced across at her in surprise, but did as she suggested, ripping open the seal and unfolding the paper inside. Scanning the contents was enough to prompt a sharp intake of breath. ‘I don’t bloody think so,’ he said, his face darkening. He tossed the letter across to her so that she could read it, and made a growling noise in his throat. ‘Shit. I might have guessed she’d try a stunt like this.’

Frankie’s intuition had been right. The letter was from a solicitor’s office, brief and to the point: due to a change of circumstances, their client, Ms Julia Athanas, was seeking a child arrangement order regarding living arrangements for her son, Fergus Jacobs, initially as shared care, with a view to eventually having him on a full-time basis. They hoped Mr Jacobs would be amenable to this, otherwise they would advise mediation sessions to resolve the situation.