“Hugh will say you’re wasting water,” Mills said, coming up behind her. Helen turned off the tap and smiled as Mills held out her arms. “Can I have a hug?” Mills asked.

“Sure,” Helen replied. Mills leaned in and Helen softened, feeling some of the tightness loosen in her shoulders. It was rare for Mills to ask for hugs these days. She could be prickly sometimes and often seemed to be only half there, the other half distracted by Snapchat, Instagram and a whole teenage world that Helen found alien.

Mills pulled away and went to rummage in the fridge. Helen watched her, her heart quietly full and longing at the same time, longing for those days when it was just her and Mills hanging out in this huge house, playing hide and seek in the countless rooms and having sleepovers in front of the stone fireplace in the lounge, the couch pushed back, a mattress on the floor and custard eaten straight from the tub. Mills pulled out a can of Diet Coke and slammed the door shut. A fridge magnet slid from the door and fell with a clatter onto the tiles.

“You ok, Mum?” She was watching Helen closely with her jade green eyes. Helen could only assume she’d inherited those from her father.

“Yeah, like I say, headache, that’s all.” Helen paused. “You ok?”

Mills just smiled cryptically and left.

Helen wandered over to the fridge and picked up the magnet. A photo of Hugh and her on their wedding day, seven years ago now, the age gap between them apparent even then.

Two families, coming together later in life. All of them so different, like pieces of a jigsaw twisting and turning to fit together in the hope that they would mould into the picture of a happy, blended family.

There were still some pieces missing.

Helen put the magnet back in its place, then straightened it ever so slightly. Hugh liked straight lines and neat corners.

She moved back towards the sink, then hesitated, turned back and nudged the magnet out of alignment again.

*

Helen curled her feet underneath her on the couch, enjoying the glass of red wine she had poured herself. She had had one with dinner, so this would be her last before bed. Never more than two glasses these days. She had become one of those women whose hand hovered over her glass when the host came around with the bottle. The one who said, “No, really, I mustn’t.” Hugh didn’t like displays of overindulgence.

Clive sat at her feet, his head propped up on the couch cushion. She stroked his soft ears until he flopped down onto the rug and fell asleep, snores making his lips tremble.