‘No,’ she said. ‘But you might want to try calling first.’

‘Why, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’ He paused, glancing around, as if expecting to find a lover hiding somewhere. Rachel wondered what he would do if he had interrupted something. Keel over and have a coronary, possibly.

Dad had never commented on her lack of a partner – not when she was younger and not now – but she knew he must wonder. Who wouldn’t? At fourteen she was dating a new guy every week, to the point that Dad refused to answer the landline because he couldn’t bear to listen to another stammering adolescent boy asking for Rachel. Then, at sixteen, she hung up her dating boots. It must have surprised him. She was certain he’d made some kind of pact with himself never to ask. Back when Mum was lucid, she used to ask often. ‘Why don’t you have anyone? Surely you could have your pick of the men!’ But Dad never said a word. She’d always been grateful for it, but suddenly she wondered why.

‘You interrupted me watching TV, actually,’ she said, closing the front door. ‘Cup of tea?’

‘What a good idea!’ he said, as if that hadn’t been his intention all along.

Rachel led the way to the kitchen, where Dad immediately settled himself at the round table and waited for her to produce a cup of tea. She should have found it insulting, the way he expected to be waited on, but he always seemed so happy when she handed over the tea that it was almost a delight to make it for him.

This was why men ruled the world.

‘Lemon cake?’

Dad grinned. ‘With cream, if you have it.’

Naturally, she did. She even had lemon-infused cream, made specially. She flicked on the kettle and cut them each a generous slice of cake, which she doused with cream. She placed a plate in front of Dad.

‘It was nice meeting Heather the other day,’ she said carefully. ‘She seemed . . . great.’

‘She can’t cook,’ he replied, spearing a piece of lemon cake. He was trying be brave, but Rachel could see he found this a little distressing.

‘Well,’ Rachel said, ‘lucky you already have a cook in the family.’

‘Indeed.’ His cheeks were bulging with cake. ‘I don’t suppose you offer cookery classes?’

‘For you, or for Heather?’

‘Both,’ he said diplomatically.

Dad wasn’t always diplomatic. The old Dad would have said, ‘Cooking? Me? I don’t think so,’ and Mum would have rolled her eyes and said, ‘Your father would struggle to make toast without me.’ Now he was considering cookery classes?

‘Speaking of Heather,’ Rachel said, ‘she called a few minutes ago.’

Dad looked up from his cake. He had a bit of cream on his chin. ‘Oh?’

‘I was in the middle of something and I had to end the call prematurely.’

‘Ah,’ Dad said. ‘She was hoping to arrange lunch with you and Tully. That’s why I stopped by. I want to make sure you and Tully are making an effort.’