‘Can I have some wine?’ said Cassie, in a languid manner that suggested she drank all the time. For all I knew, she did.

Mike met my eyes for a moment. He shrugged; always more easy-going than me. I was too tired to have the discussion. ‘One glass.’

Mike poured one out for her. ‘Drink it slowly, Cass. If you like that, and you’re sensible, maybe one day I’ll let you taste the really special stuff I have hidden far away from your Uncle Callum’s greedy grasp.’ She smiled at him, her shoulders relaxing into his arm. If I’d said that about being sensible, she’d have flounced out of the room.

‘Quite right too,’ said Callum. ‘Time she learned to appreciate a good vintage. Now, Jodi here, she still prefers a Chardonnay spritzer. She’s a lost cause. What have you there?’ He examined the bottle of Muscadet I’d bought, knowing Callum preferred French whites. ‘Supposed to be a good little vineyard, that one.’ I knew it was his way of saying sorry for needling me about the TV interview.

‘Where’s Jake?’ I asked Cassie.

‘Pitching his tent.’ Oh God, his tent. Another spurt of anxiety – was this going to work, or would it all fall apart?

Jodi seemed to slump. ‘Can we take our bags up?’ A touch pointed, I thought. But there I went again, so tense I was seeing things that weren’t there. These were our friends. All of us together for the first time in years. Well, once Bill got here. Bill. My stomach tripped itself up in an odd nervy way, some very old echo in my blood.

‘Let’s do that now.’ I bent to pick up their wheelie-case, feeling something twinge in my back, and the passage of time suddenly left me dizzy. We’d been eighteen when we met, and now we were forty-three. Twenty-five years gone, lost like something dropping out of my pocket.

‘No sign of Bill yet?’ asked Jodi, lumbering up the stairs behind me.

I’d nipped ahead to make sure Benji had actually tidied up the apple cores and Minecraft toys he usually left strewn behind him. I saw, to my surprise, that the door of his room was open, and no sign of Karen or her things. Had Mike forgotten she was going in there? ‘Not yet. He’s biking down, you know.’

Callum came up behind us with the rest of the bags, puffing with the effort. ‘Classic Bill. And is it true the porn actress has given him the boot? The thigh-high boot?’

‘She’s not a porn actress, Callum, for God’s sake! She’s an artist. And yes, I think Bill and Astrid are no more.’

‘What a shame,’ said Jodi, looking round the room. ‘I really liked her when they came for our wedding. And we stayed with them out there once.’