Lucy crouched to make a fuss of Tessy, holding her face between her hands and kissing her snout. The other girl stood behind her, chewing her lollipop and gazing around to avoid having to make one-sided conversation with Marnie.

‘I’m starving,’ Lucy said. ‘Can I get something from the garage?’

Marnie put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a couple of coins amongst shreds of tissue and fragments of dog treats. Maya made a small sound that sounded like: ‘Ugh’.

Marnie, fishing further, found the note that she’d known was there somewhere, folded into a small square. She unfolded it, eyes down so as not to see the expression on Maya’s face and gave it to her daughter.

Lucy said: ‘Thanks,’ and put her arm round Marnie’s waist in an expression of solidarity. Marnie held onto her, the two of them rocking together for a moment, Marnie’s lips pressed into the top of her daughter’s head. Lucy was perfect, in Marnie’s eyes; perfect in every way. She loved the bones of her daughter and was deeply grateful that her child had turned out to be nothing like her at all. She pulled away first, overwhelmed by Lucy’s affection and made a pushing motion with the back of her hand. Go on then. Off you go.

The two girls disappeared inside the service station. Marnie waited outside with the dog, basking in the glow of Lucy’s affection, trying to remember if she had ever embraced her own mother so generously. She didn’t believe that she had.

Once, when Marnie was seven or eight, she’d won a prize at primary school for a drawing she’d made of Trip Hazard, her father’s dog. Mr and Mrs deVillars, who’d recently paid for the refurbishment of the school hall, had been invited to present the prize. Denise had made sure Marnie was dressed up like a little princess, clean socks, clean sandals, a ribbon in her hair and she’d stood back to look at Marnie and said she’d never been prouder. But she wouldn’t come to watch Marnie receive her award, she said she was too busy.

She wasn’t busy. Marnie knew she was going to stay in the cottage and read.

Her father, who really was busy and who never took a day off work if he could help it, had taken off his overalls and put on his wedding jacket, spat on his good shoes and buffed them with a rag, and then walked to the school with Marnie. He’d waved at her from the back of the hall as she climbed the steps to the stage to collect her prize. He’d given her the thumbs up and taken a photograph. He’d stopped at the shop and bought her a KitKat on the way home.