Sasha couldn’t possibly tell her mother that she had narrowly escaped getting blown to smithereens when Tony Gardner’s bungalow exploded. She didn’t fancy getting another lecture about how dangerous her job was, and how instead she should stay home and concentrate on becoming the new Nigella. Despite the fact that she had never been, and never would be, a very good cook, and despite the fact that right now, and for the foreseeable future, she was the only person bringing money into the house.

But she also didn’t want to contemplate just how close she had come to getting seriously injured, or even killed, in Hadleigh. The news was playing silently on a wall-mounted telly, and she saw the front of Gardner’s house, with its gaping spaces where the door and windows used to be, and turned it off.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ She clapped her hands together. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘What’s happened to your trousers?’ Standing with a buttered bap in her hand, Ursula stared at them. Sasha looked down to see that one leg had been torn along the thigh.

‘Someone smashed a glass at work.’

Kev, who knew all about the explosion, gave her a kiss on the cheek and a discreet squeeze of the arm. What she really wanted was a long, tender hug, but she gave him a warning glance, as if to say, Not a word, and he knew better than to mention it. He handed her a glass of Prosecco.

Alec sipped from his can and said, ‘It’s just as well she’s got lovely legs.’

‘Thanks, Dad.’ Sasha looked around. ‘Where’s Con?’

Ursula was taking the silver foil off a whole salmon she had brought with her. ‘Not here yet,’ she said, visibly annoyed. ‘And both your children are conspicuous by their absence too. I hope they’re going to join us.’

‘Good luck with that.’ Sasha sipped the Prosecco and glanced at her husband as he took the bottle from the fridge, ready to top her up. ‘And thanks for helping Angel pay for our hotel stay. We’re both very excited.’

‘Ah.’ Kev closed the fridge door gingerly. ‘About that.’

‘What about it?’ she asked, alarmed.

‘That job interview I told you about has been moved to six o’clock,’ he said. ‘So I may be a bit late.’

‘It shouldn’t be a problem, should it?’ Her heart sank a little; she’d been looking forward to making the most of their single romantic night away in a swish hotel.

‘I can’t imagine the interview will last more than half an hour, forty-five minutes.’ He topped up his own drink. ‘With the wind behind me, I’ll be there by eight.’