The toast popped. Juliet prepared Eliza’s breakfast and passed it across. She refilled the teapot for the others. Sadie and Clementine’s cups were already on the table. Juliet took down her father’s cup and saucer from the shelf. It was a delicate blue colour, with a border of cheerful red blossom. Their mother had always had her morning tea in that cup. Juliet could remember her sipping it, closing her eyes and saying, ‘Ah, that hits the spot.’ Only Leo used her cup these days.

The kitchen door was pushed open with a bang. ‘Bloody hell, Juliet. Look at the time.’ Sadie was still dressing herself as she walked in, her head emerging from an orange and red striped poncho. Her hair, last night the model of current fashion with its teased perm, looked like a flattened haystack this morning. None of her sisters remarked on it. She threw her canvas bag and a pair of cork-heeled boots into the corner of the room with a clatter, then slumped into a chair. Sadie woke up grumpy every morning. ‘Why didn’t you wake me? I told you I have an early lecture.’

‘You didn’t ask me to wake you. Do you want some breakfast?’

‘What is it?’

‘Cat sick on toast if you keep talking to me like that.’

‘Sorry, Juliet. I’d love some of your beautiful cuisine. Thank you for getting up early to prepare it for me.’ Eighteen years old, Sadie was in her first year of an arts degree. One month earlier she’d been in her first year of a science degree. She’d also completed one week of a teaching degree, before changing her mind about that as well. ‘Such a shame there’s not a degree in dillydallying,’ Miranda had remarked. ‘You’d top the class in that.’

‘Where’s Leo?’ Eliza asked, bringing her teacup over for a top-up.

‘Shed Land. He’s been there all morning.’ Juliet had been up at seven and the light in the garden shed their father used as his inventing room was already shining. He was spending more time in there these days than out looking after his tree plantations. She decided to give him another ten minutes before checking on him.

Miranda pushed the newspaper away and gave a graceful stretch. Her glossy dark-red hair shimmered down her back as she flexed her arms above her head. ‘If you ask me, we’re being replaced in his affections by test tubes and soldering irons. Juliet, call the authorities when you’ve finished washing the dishes, will you? If it isn’t bad enough that we’re motherless, we’re now heading towards fatherlessness.’

‘You said you preferred it when he’s busy out there.’

‘Busy out there is one thing. Abandoning his daughters for days on end is another.’