‘Sod off,’ Sophie said, throwing a cheese puff at him. She turned to Angie. ‘Thanks so much for your help, I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘It was nothing,’ Angie said. Sophie imagined her hosting a party. She pictured everything prepared to perfection, Jack dishing out glasses of Chablis while their guests discussed very important matters, instead of which child at school had head lice. She wondered what Angie thought of her house. Compared to her immaculate home it probably looked like a pigsty. But she seemed comfortable enough relaxing on one of Sophie’s kitchen chairs, glass of wine in hand. Perhaps we’re not that different after all, she thought.

As the four of them chatted easily about house extensions, children and TV shows that Jack had worked on, the promised five minutes of extra playtime turned into an hour. By the time the Taylors finally went home Sophie couldn’t even be bothered to tidy up.

‘Leave it all, Alan, we’ll do it in the morning,’ she said as she followed the kids upstairs to start their bath. ‘What do you make of them?’ she asked him, curious to hear his opinion.

‘Yeah, they’re all right,’ he said. Coming from Alan, that was high praise indeed.

6

Angie lingered in the back doorway, observing her husband. Jack was out in the garden, looking at the barbecue with the primal sense of achievement that men get when they successfully make fire. He was wearing shorts, a T-shirt and a novelty apron that the children had given him a couple of Christmases ago, which declared All This And I Can Cook! His eyes were hidden behind a pair of aviator shades. Even after all these years, he still gave her butterflies.

She peered up into the treehouse and could just make out four sets of legs. In the three months since the storm, Tom and Katie had become regular visitors to their garden, and often their house too. At first Sophie had been apologetic about her children’s uninvited appearances, but Angie had reassured her that they were welcome. They were nice kids and Ellie and Freddy were delighted with their new playmates. They hardly ever mentioned their friends in Greenwich these days, it was all about Tom and Katie.

Once the initial awkward politeness had passed, they had settled into a rather pleasant routine of sorts. Sophie had started popping by for a cup of tea and a chat when she came to fetch the children. Angie now found herself glancing at the gap in the fence whenever she was in the kitchen, instinctively looking in anticipation for her neighbour. No one had mentioned that the fence probably should have been fixed by now. Or that they both had perfectly good front doors they could use.

Sophie had surprised her. In Angie’s line of work, you often could judge a book by its cover. When she had first met Sophie, she had categorised her as one of those mumsy-types who was so obsessed with her children that she didn’t talk about anything else. But she was wrong. Sophie was funny, sharp as a tack and interesting. She had googled her name once after learning that she was a writer and had become absorbed in her articles. She clearly had talent and Angie couldn’t for the life of her understand why Sophie had given it all up. Still, she seemed happy enough and who was she to judge. Besides, Angie was just pleased to have made a new friend.