Silence.

Suzanne leaps up and picks up plates and starts stacking the dishwasher. Stuart still hasn’t made proper eye contact with me; it’s irritating. He’s the one who is going to give the game away, not me.

Camilla stands her ground. “Thanks, Suzanne, it was something I hadn’t thought of, but it would help immensely. My move back here was fairly sudden and I’d forgotten how expensive the UK was. But I don’t want to put you in an awkward position either, Stuart.”

“Why don’t we all have a chat after Christmas?” I say, keen to get back in Suzanne’s good books, play Camilla at whatever her game is and try to give the impression to Stuart that I won’t make life difficult if he’s full of regret.

It’s exhausting trying to please everyone all of the time.

Stuart looks tired. I guess he didn’t sleep much either.

Camilla smiles at him.

Unease forms in the pit of my stomach as I await his reaction. It’s not what I expect. He walks out of the kitchen as if he doesn’t trust himself to react.

Hopeful that Camilla has caused enough ripples for one visit, I escape upstairs for my second shower of the day. Standing beneath the cascade, I turn the temperature up as hot as I can stand. My head clears.

Wrapping a towel around me, I’m too impatient to get dressed before I Google the fear of dogs: cynophobia. Camilla was badly bitten by a dog, not once but twice. The first time was when she was very young (but she said she still remembers the pain), the second time was when she was on holiday with her grandparents. Hospital visits were involved on both occasions.

Camilla will suddenly find being around here a whole lot less appealing. A dog really is for life, not just for Christmas. I scrap my idea of getting Stuart new ties because, of course, it’s so obvious now that a pet is exactly what they all need for a fresh focus. It will help them heal.

More and more, I can see why Nina entrusted me to make the right choices for her family.

Twelve

When I come downstairs, Stuart is alone. Everyone else is at the park.

“Apparently, I look like I could do with a break.” He grins.

Relief. He looks happier.

“I didn’t sleep much either, as you’ve gathered by my early morning exit,” I say.

I wait.

“Do you regret last night?” I can’t help asking.

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“I feel guilty, but that has nothing to do with us.”

I love that he’s just said us. “Likewise.” I pause, then say, “What about Camilla? We can’t have her living in our garden. She’ll be on to us in no time, and we need to take this—whatever this is—slowly.”

I stop, praying that I haven’t overstepped the mark, that Stuart is as keen as me to see how things cautiously, and secretly, develop between us.

“What’s the story between her and Louise’s father?” he asks.