For a moment Dad looks flattered. And then, ‘He may have read it, but if he understood it – which I doubt – he’s rejected it. All he’s interested in is what I believe you people call “spin”.’

‘Is that “spin” so terrible if it actually allows Labour to oust the Conservatives you hate so much, after almost twenty years?’ I’m not sure why I’m defending Todd. I don’t owe him anything. I’m supposed to be an impartial observer, the referee, not a player. But there are times when it’s impossible to deny my convictions, inherited from Dad and shaped by my own experiences. Also, Todd has adopted Clare’s pensions tax. For that I owe him.

‘Clare would be on my side,’ I say, instantly regretting it. It’s been two months, no time at all. None of us can really believe that she’s not about to walk in from the kitchen with five mugs of strong builders’ tea.

‘I’m not sure you’re right, Gil,’ says Charles. ‘She was scathing about Todd.’

‘Really?’ I look to Dad for support. ‘I thought she rated him.’

He looks uncertain. ‘Sometimes she did. I’m not sure.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Charles is adamant. ‘When he came on the telly, she switched him off. Said he was a phony.’

I share a look with Dad. We’re confused.

‘That reminds me . . .’ says Charles. ‘Can I have a word, Gil?’

*

Leaving Mum to act out an impromptu glove puppet show with Luke, and Sam and Dad talking about their favourite Spurs players, I follow Charles back into the hall, up the stairs to a small study at the back of the house. It overlooks a garden teeming with apple blossom. Framed pictures of the boys and the family cover all the walls and stand propped on every surface.

‘Clare’s study,’ says Charles. ‘I’ve left it as it was. I don’t come in here.’

‘I understand.’

He gestures to a cardboard box sitting in the middle of the floor. ‘A chap from the Treasury brought this round a few days ago. Her PA, the one who was in the papers.’

‘Jeremy?’

‘It’s Clare’s things from the office. He’d been holding onto them all this time – very apologetic. I can’t really bear to go through it all, and it would be too much for Bernard and Ginger. Do you think you could have a look, see if there’s anything important? Sorry to ask.’

For the first time today, I feel on the edge of disaster, again. Anxious. I don’t know why. ‘Of course. Leave it with me.’

Rather than picking up the box, I sit down cross-legged on the floor and open it. I am a child once more, looking at big sister’s things. Unsure of what I will find.