I thought of the elaborate damage limitation plan my team had been working on late the night before.

‘But—’

‘No buts,’ said Dad, holding up his hand before I could explain. ‘We have the Tyler reputation to think of and I know you said not to, but I did make a couple of calls last night. I think Vicky Price might be a possibility.’

‘Vicky . . .’

‘Price. She plays football for England and is available to step in.’

I knew who she was, I just couldn’t believe Dad had ‘stepped in’ when I’d specifically asked him not to.

‘She’s just had her second baby and I thought it would be an interesting twist to have a woman spearheading the project. Her agent was very keen.’

‘Have you approached the advertiser?’ I asked.

‘No, I thought I’d leave that to you,’ he said bluntly, piling the eggs Joan had scrambled on to a plate. ‘Now come on, eat up.’

I couldn’t believe he had gone ahead and done that. Bringing Vicky Price in was an inspired idea, but in doing it he had made me look completely inept.

*

After some cajoling from Joan, I did manage to eat a modest breakfast which was just as well, given the amount of work involved in sorting through Mum’s things. Had my belly stayed empty I would have probably ended up keeling over.

‘Half of this hasn’t even been worn,’ Dad grumbled, as he shifted outfit after outfit into the hanging boxes sent by the charity taking the clothes. ‘These have all still got the labels on.’

He was right and flicking through them I could see the amounts Mum had spent was breathtaking. The charity would make a fortune at the fashion show they were holding later in the year to auction off their very best donated stock.

‘No wonder her credit cards were always stretched to the limit,’ Dad moaned on. ‘Your mother had transformed into a professional shopper.’

I wanted to point out that her retail habit was most likely born out of boredom and all the hours she spent alone, but I didn’t. I had been hoping Dad might have felt able to express his grief once we started going through everything, but watching him move perfunctorily from one packing box to another, I wasn’t sure he felt any. Watching him move swiftly along the rails without a single lingering look made me feel incredibly sad.

‘No sign of the yellow sundress,’ I sighed in the hope that harking further back might evoke an emotional response.

‘The what?’

‘The dress Mum always used to wear to the beach when we holidayed in Wynmouth, remember?’

Dad straightened up. He looked wistful for a moment but then frowned.

‘Your mother was a different woman back then,’ he said stiffly.

‘And you were a different man,’ I muttered under my breath.