‘I’m not quite sure how to take that, so I’ll just say thanks. I’m sorry about your father,’ she said, noticing that Hannah had clearly been crying. It seemed odd that her mother appeared to have no such remorse about her husband’s death.

‘Thank you. He was an amazing man.’

‘Can you tell me a little bit about him?’

‘I don’t really know what to say, to be honest. He was… strong. He didn’t take no for an answer. Never. He always knew what he wanted and he made damn sure he got it. I hope I can take after him.’

Caroline didn’t particularly fancy the idea of her children turning out like either Roger or Alice, but having spent some time with the latter she knew which she’d choose if push came to shove.

‘Your mum said you weren’t home.’

Hannah made a noise like the brakes on a bus. ‘She’s full of shit. She wanted me out of the way when you guys came over, because she thought I might say “the wrong thing”.’

‘I don’t think there is a wrong thing or a right thing to say. The only thing we want is the truth.’

Hannah cocked her head and waved a finger. ‘I know, right? That’s what I said to her, but she wasn’t having it. She likes to be seen as this perfect little housewife, the dedicated churchgoer who can’t do any wrong. It’s all bullshit.’

‘How so?’

Hannah dropped onto the bed in a seated position, bouncing a couple of times as the mattress fought back. ‘She’s been hanging out with this rugby guy a lot lately. He used to be a pro, apparently. Like, back in the seventeenth century or something. Mum says they’re just friends, but she doesn’t know a thing about rugby. They’re clearly banging.’

Caroline raised an eyebrow. ‘And what makes you say that?’

‘I know these things. You should see the way they look at each other. It’s gross. Shame, too. I’d totally go there.’

‘What, with the rugby guy?’

‘Patrick,’ Hannah said, as if she’d already told Caroline his name and she was being rude by not using it. ‘And yeah, totally. For an old guy he’s pretty hot. He’s, like, all muscles and stuff. Super yum.’

Caroline nodded slowly, the cogs turning in her brain as she tried to figure out the odd family dynamic. ‘And when you say old…’

‘Oh, he’s like mid-forties, probably? Younger than Dad, but still proper old. Your sort of age. Not, like, grandad age but still plenty of juice left in the tank.’

‘I see. You like older men, do you?’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time. They tend to be more… appreciative.’

‘Do you have a photo of Patrick?’ Caroline asked, keen to keep the conversation clean and professional.