Or maybe he just wanted to, I reflect, unable to dampen my ridiculous smile as I say goodnight. I watch him for a moment, tall and gangly, as he strides away down the street. Then, despite the fact that I am currently sharing it with thirteen children – who’ll expect pancakes first thing – I sort of float back into my house.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Saturday, November 9

Chrissie and I appear to be competing on the sleep-deprivation front: her with baby Lara, and me on my quest to amass more Girl Friday pieces, which involves more emailing late into the night. Because normal life must go on, and I can’t get away with working on the project at the office, beyond cramming in as many phone calls as possible at lunchtime.

Meanwhile, Nick has now joined in with the hunt, and a week since Izzy’s party a new clutch of goodies has arrived. We’ve now acquired a beautiful baby-blue jacket, a pair of outrageous silver boots, a crocheted waistcoat and a bunch of brightly beaded necklaces, chokers and belts. Still no poncho, though, and my hope of finding one is starting to wane.

‘Does that matter?’ Chrissie asks as I show her the growing collection in Spencer’s room. She’s wearing her blonde hair in a wilted topknot, and Lara is asleep in a papoose against her chest.

‘It does to me,’ I say. ‘I’ll just keep looking. The show’s happening on the first of December so there’s still time.’ I look around as Izzy wanders in to see what we’re up to.

‘What’ll the show be like?’ she asks, gazing around in wonder.

‘Well, there’ll be models dressed up in all these clothes, with spotlights and music and loads of people watching. At least, I hope people will come.’ I take her hand in mine. ‘You do remember all this is a secret, don’t you?’ I add.

‘Yeah, ’course I do.’ She looks up and smiles. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I won’t tell.’

I turn to Chrissie. ‘You too,’ I tease her. ‘Penny still knows nothing about this.’

‘Of course,’ she says firmly. ‘Oh, I wish I could come and see the show, Viv. It’s going to be amazing!’

I look at her, momentarily confused. ‘I was hoping you’d be there. Can’t you come?’

‘I doubt it,’ she says briskly, following Izzy and me back downstairs. ‘There’s the baby, you know. It’s kind of difficult.’

‘But … it’s only a few hours on a Sunday evening. Tim would be fine with the kids, wouldn’t he?’

‘Yes, well, he says so …’ Hmmm. Being their father, and generally responsible and capable and all that. ‘But it just feels too soon to leave her,’ she adds.