‘I also love yoga. I’m a bit of an addict, if I’m honest.’

Yoga. Gardening. Interior design. It was as if she’d just plucked her profession and hobbies out of a how-to-be-dull catalogue.

‘Wow,’ Tully said, monotone. ‘Amazing.’

‘I’ve also taken an interest in cooking recently,’ Heather added, giving Dad a playful smile.

‘Her speciality is charcoal chicken,’ Dad said, giving her an affectionate nudge.

Heather giggled. ‘I’m getting better!’

The strangeness of this flirtation sent a mild electric shock through Tully. It dawned on her almost anew that Dad was . . . dating this child. Probably having sex with her! As soon as the thought entered her head, Tully tried to quash it, but it was too late, it was spiralling. Dad. Heather. Sex. Tully closed her eyes, but that only made it worse. Her gag reflex triggered and she pushed back her chair and bent forward at the waist.

‘Natalie!’ Dad sounded alarmed. ‘Are you all right?’

Tully judged it to be a rhetorical question, since it must have been obvious to anyone that she was not all right. Her eyes were closed and her forehead rested on her knees. She inhaled deeply, trying to force oxygen in, and the images of Dad and Heather out. Unsuccessful on both counts. With her head between her knees, Tully opened her eyes. Heather’s bag was under the table, unzipped and open. Her purse sat right at the top.

‘Tully?’ Dad pleaded.

Tully’s hands acted on autopilot, from muscle memory, from instinct – like a baby dancing to music. One minute the wallet was on top of Heather’s bag; the next, it was deep inside Tully’s. By the time Tully sat up again, the air was already returning to her lungs. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Dad and Heather. ‘I’m fine.’

2

RACHEL

As soon as Rachel hurried through the doorway of the restaurant, she saw that there were bigger problems at play than the fact that she was late. For one thing, Tully’s head was between her knees (dramatic, but not altogether unusual for Tully, especially at a lunch of this magnitude). For another, there was not a morsel of food on the table yet, not even a bread roll! Rachel was entertaining the idea of skipping out of there and claiming car trouble when Tully sat up, and Dad noticed Rachel in the entrance.

‘Oh, look,’ he cried, feverishly pleased to see her. ‘It’s Rachel. Rachel! Over here!’

Rachel made her way to the table, ignoring the barista, who winked at her. She hated it when people flirted with her.

‘Sorry I’m late!’ she said brightly.

‘Rachel’s not known for her punctuality,’ Dad said to the immaculate woman beside him, presumably Heather, as he rose to greet her. ‘Luckily she has other talents.’

‘Like what?’ Rachel asked. She shot a quick glance at Tully, who appeared to have recovered from whatever spell had caused her to put her head between her knees, then held out her hand to Heather. She was, as expected, exceptionally young. Other diners would almost certainly assume Dad was taking his three daughters to lunch.