Before Mum could answer, Dad shifted position so he could set a hand on each shoulder. He looked at me dead on and stared like he was searching for something. ‘Edith Parcell, you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman. You’re giving and loving and brave and hilarious, especially when you don’t mean to be. And don’t let the fact that I’m your old dad undercut any of that, do you hear? Rowan is mighty lucky to have you, and I’m sure if you told him these worries, about not experiencing enough and what have you, I bet he’d tell you exactly the same as I have. Then he’d kiss you, and tell you you’re being daft.’ There was a single tear track running from each duct, en route to my chin, by the time Dad had finished. He pulled me to him, kissed my forehead and said, ‘Now, you’re being daft.’

‘Talk to him, why don’t you?’ Mum added. ‘Rowan that is, not your dad. He’ll be bawling his eyes out when we’re home later; there’ll be no talking to him after this. But talk to Rowan? I’m sure if you told him this business about other people, experiencing more … whatever it is you think you both need to be experiencing, he’ll tell you things are just fine as they are.’ Every strike of reassurance felt like a blow to my belly. He could tell me no such thing, I wanted to say, because this was his bloody suggestion! ‘Oh.’ Something behind me caught her attention. ‘Thank you.’

Mum leaned away from the table to make room for the waitress, who was balancing ridiculous amounts of food on each forearm. When everything was down in front of the right place setting, she turned to me and pulled a napkin out of the small apron that was fixed around her waist.

‘I saw you across the room.’ She handed it to me. ‘Don’t think me rude, honey, but in my line of work I see a lot of girls crying and let me tell you, whoever he is, he’s probably not worth it …’

Chapter 12