“Everyone?” He sounded oddly guarded.

“Well . . .”

“Let me see,” he said. “Mrs. Adeyemi next door has had her baby. Aunty May’s had to have her cat put down—the tabby one. Um . . .” He stopped to think.

Tom? I pleaded inwardly. What about Tom?

“Oh yes, and Tom’s on the move. He’s got a new job lined up.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere in the Northeast. Newcastle, I think. He’s not leaving till January. But the two of you are in touch, aren’t you? I expect he’s told you about it?”

The fridge door clunked as he fetched the milk.

“No, not really,” I said. “What with my phone . . .”

“Speaking of work,” he went on, “what about you? I’m still not entirely clear what you’ve got in mind. Are you job hunting down there, or . . . ?”

I closed my eyes.

“I’m not entirely clear myself yet, Dad. It’s early days.”

The cord slipped off my finger and I started to wind it round more tightly, leaving fewer spaces. I wondered to myself when early days would stop being early days. I couldn’t think of anything else to say; I couldn’t even think of a question. Tom was moving to Newcastle.

“Freya?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not angry with me, are you?”

“No!”

“Because I keep reassuring you that I’m not cross, but I get the feeling you don’t believe me. I’m delighted that you’re happy, and I don’t want you thinking I dislike Cory, either, because I don’t. From the little I know, I’d say he suits you down to a T.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I pressed the receiver more tightly to my ear.

“Freya?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m still here, but what do you mean exactly?”

“About what?”

“About . . .” I couldn’t look over my shoulder again—it would come across as shifty. I lowered my voice. “About suiting me down to a T.”

I didn’t disagree with him; I just wanted to hear about it from a fresh perspective.

“Sorry, love, I can’t hear you well. The line’s quite crackly.”

“Oh, look, it doesn’t matter.”

Cory’s paintbrush tapped and scraped across the canvas. I tried to think of something else to say.

“I told you I’d lost my phone, didn’t I? So I’ll keep ringing you on this landline until it turns up, but I can’t very well text unless I borrow Cory’s phone, so you must remember not to worry.”

“I will remember not to worry,” he said. I could hear a smile in his voice, as if he thought me daft but endearing.

“OK.”

“Well . . .”

It was obvious he wanted to go. I heard the kitchen door sidling open, and Dad muffling the receiver—imperfectly—as he whispered, “Can you manage the tray?”

“Who’ve you got with you?”

“No one.” Dad sounded embarrassed. “A friend from work.”