“Goodness, darlings.” Eve stares at her daughters. “You both look exhausted. Whatever happened to your skirt, Sorrel?”

Sorrel looks at her feet, sucking her thumb.

“The elastic must have snapped with all that running.” Eve puts her arm around Sorrel. “Never mind, we’ll buy you another.” Sorrel leans against her and closes her eyes.

Charley stands close to Grace but Blake stares back into the trees. The garden looks even larger at night, a wilderness stretching out in front of them.

“Where’s Izzy?” Melissa asks, trying to keep unease from her voice.

“She’ll be along in a moment, don’t fret.” Paul sits back in his chair, pouring the last of a bottle of wine into a glass. “I know my little girl rather well. She loves to make an entrance.”

Melissa gets out of her seat and walks to the edge of the veranda; the stone balustrade is gritty under her fingers. She has already spoken out of turn this evening; if she says any more, he’s likely to remember.

“It’s time we got going.” Grace stands up. “Thanks, Eve, thanks, Eric, great food.” She takes Charley’s hand. “I hope Ash enjoyed his birthday.”

She nods her goodbyes to Melissa and the others and starts to make her way back to the car, Blake trailing in her wake.

“Perfect evening,” Martin murmurs, and hurries to catch up with his family.

Eve puts Ash down on the little sofa by the door and begins to clear the table with Eric. At that moment Izzy appears, her slim figure running swiftly across the lawn and then up the steps; unlike the other children she doesn’t seem tired at all.

“What did I say?” Paul’s tone is triumphant. “Hometime, madam. It’s late.”

As if she hasn’t heard him, Izzy walks over to Ash.

“Watch out, sweetie.” Melissa puts out a hand to restrain her. “He’s just gone to sleep.”

She needn’t have worried; Izzy merely leans over the sleeping child, giving him a gentle kiss. A new Izzy, tender, absorbed. Eve was right, she’s growing up. Paul takes her arm and they say their farewells. Izzy looks pleased when he tells her about the holiday on their way home; Melissa listens to their exchange but doesn’t join in. She is exhausted. Paul seems satisfied with the way things went this evening; she crosses her fingers tightly in the dark.

Sorrel is sucking her thumb. The house is quiet because everyone’s asleep, but the fire is still roaring in her ears. Although she’s pulled the duvet up over her head, flames burn in the darkness, red like the inside of an animal’s mouth.

“The fire is a beast and needs feeding,” Izzy had shouted. “It’ll get you if you don’t run fast enough.” She’d told them to run faster and faster; they ran till it was difficult to breathe. The others ran too fast for Sorrel to catch up, her legs were aching. Her skirt came loose, it got tangled around her legs, and then she fell over, bang. Her skirt came right off. Izzy stopped and picked up the skirt, she hurled it into the fire as quick as quick, a sacrifice for the beast. He was hungry, Izzy said, her eyes glowing like the fire. Sorrel’s skirt melted in the flames. She began to sob.