‘Can we go in the pool, Hevva?’ Locky asked.

Behind him, Miles sat on the floor, already nude, slipping an inflatable floatie onto his wrist.

‘Sure,’ Heather said, sipping her champagne, ‘if it’s okay with your mum and dad.’

‘I’ll take you in, buddy,’ Darcy said, appearing in his board shorts.

Heather had to admit, she felt a pulse of something at the sight of Darcy’s pectoral muscles. Then again, she supposed he was a good match for Rachel, who looked particularly stunning today in a floor-length bohemian sundress with a low-cut neckline. Her curves were truly out of this world. Heather had always worked hard to maintain her slim figure but there was something about seeing Rachel that made her want to have a second helping of lunch. Rachel, ironically, hadn’t eaten much at all today, perhaps too distracted by the lovely man on her arm and the family around her.

Sonny appeared then, also in board shorts, carrying a giant inflatable swan. ‘Ready, boys?’

‘Wait,’ Tully said, ‘I have to put sunscreen on them.’

The men disappeared outside, and Tully clasped Locky between her knees, smearing sunscreen over his scrunched-up face. Heather squatted down next to Miles – who was much more accommodating – and did the same to him. He’d been much calmer these past few months, Heather had noticed. Perhaps it was having Tully around more? Or perhaps it was the fact that, since Stephen’s death, everyone was a lot calmer.

Pam had passed away a month ago of pneumonia. It was a common way for people with dementia to die, but it had still come as a shock. They’d got the news that she was ill on a Wednesday, and by Saturday she was gone. The funeral had been small but lovely. Heather had attended, but remained at the back of the room.

‘It feels quieter without Mum and Dad, doesn’t it?’ Tully said.

Heather didn’t say anything. It was the busiest, loudest Christmas she had ever known.

The boys ran outside, leaving Heather, Tully and Rachel to clean up.

‘You know what I wish?’ Tully said, as they loaded up the dishwasher. ‘I wish we’d been able to confront Dad. I still have so many questions I want to ask him.’

‘Me too,’ Rachel said. She was holding a tea towel and drying a large salad bowl. ‘About Fiona Arthur. About Mum. And . . . I just wish we’d been able to hear him admit it. It’s the doubt that’s the worst. I wish we had proof.’

‘Just because we can’t prove it doesn’t mean it isn’t true,’ Heather said.

‘But what if it isn’t true?’ Rachel said, putting down the bowl. ‘What if we got confused somehow?’

Heather could tell by the way Tully nodded that she was plagued by similar doubts. It caused a physical reaction in Heather. It felt vaguely matriarchal, which was comical, given she was the youngest of the women, and certainly not their mother.

‘We didn’t get confused,’ she said firmly. Stephen had spent so long gaslighting her, but she trusted herself now. She needed Tully and Rachel to trust themselves too. ‘Remember what we felt the moment Stephen grabbed Pam? We all felt it. Our instincts are there for a reason.’