There was a light still on in the bookshop. Frankly, she had no idea where to go. She knew Sofia would be anxious to smooth everything over if she went back, and that made her angrier than she could say. She marched up Victoria Street and, sure enough, Ramsay and Mr. McCredie were indeed killing what looked like their second bottle of Burgundy, while the boys pored over a huge illustrated atlas, eating fish and chips and almost certainly getting greasy fingerprints on an expensive piece of stock, but for a moment Carmen was just relieved to see some people she wasn’t related to.

“Hey,” she said. “Have you got another glass for that wine?”

“Problems at home?” said Ramsay. “Because let me tell you, nobody is more qualified to discuss domestic issues than the two of us.”

There was a pause, then both men burst out into hearty laughter.

In fact, there was massive comfort in being with the pair of them, Carmen found. Mr. McCredie told stories of Antarctic derring-do and how best to play croquet with an Adélie penguin; Ramsay spoke about how all the money Airbnb-ing one of the wings of the house had brought in had been spent on pajamas to stop the children from tearing around the house wearing more or less nothing. A couple of glasses of wine down, Carmen discovered that she was feeling much more relaxed, even though her phone kept pinging every couple of seconds. She focused on utterly ignoring it.

“So, what’s up with you?” asked Ramsay eventually. “Are all men bastards?”

“The jury,” said Carmen heavily, “is out.”

“Remember,” said Ramsay, who had some form in this area, “men are rubbish. They are rubbish at going after women they like.”

“I agree,” said Mr. McCredie, who had absolutely no form in this area.

“I know, but he thinks—”

“He doesn’t know what he thinks,” said Ramsay confidently. “Even if you think you have made things very clear to him, you could make them more clear.”

“It’s not that . . . dreadful popinjay, is it?” said Mr. McCredie, who didn’t speak a lot but saw everything. “The charlatan writer.”

“No. Kind of. Well. It was for a bit but . . . no. Definitely not,” said Carmen. “He’s a dendrologist . . . That means—”

“Tree chap,” said Ramsay and Mr. McCredie at once.

“Oh my God, you are such nerds,” said Carmen, laughing for the first time.

“The tall boy!” said Mr. McCredie. “Oh yes. Absolutely. I quite approve.”

Carmen smiled. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

“Is he an academic?” Ramsay frowned. “I’m just saying. It would be nice for someone round here to have some money.”

“I know, I know.”

“But you like him?”

Carmen nodded. “But he’s seeing someone else. And he thinks I’m seeing someone else. It’s just a stupid mess.”

Ramsay shook his head. “Oh, you never know. One thing about dendrologists: very, very patient.”

Carmen smiled. “It that true?”