A couple of hours later, another picture had sold (a still life of eggs, a mixing bowl and a bag of flour on Nan’s worktop) and I’d had a couple of commissions – another dog painting, and a ‘sunrise with lots of yellows’ to hang in a newly built conservatory.

Slightly giddy – when was I going to fit it all in? – and mindful of my real purpose at the café, I made a point of subtly mentioning my real job now and then, but people seemed more interested in my artwork than whether or not I could arrange a party or event, so I quickly stopped bothering, happy to chat about my pictures. Several people wanted to know why I’d given up.

‘If I could paint like that, I wouldn’t be working in the post office,’ one woman said rather crossly, as if the fact that she couldn’t was somehow my fault.

‘It was just a hobby, back then,’ I found myself saying, as though I’d recently taken it up professionally. ‘I’ve kept my hand in though.’

When things were quieter, I finally sat down with my slice of cake and a fresh cup of coffee, and discreetly spied on Mum and Dad. It seemed to be business as usual, Mum gossiping with a couple of regulars, while Dad trained Tamsin how to use the coffee machine. Gwen circled the tables with a cloth, hunting down stray crumbs, and I had to grab hold of my cup to stop her clearing it away.

Buzzing with adrenaline and caffeine I took out my pad, and, drawn by the sun now warming the windows, was about to slip out onto the terrace and do some sketching – I could always network at the games night this evening – when a boy came over and said, ‘Can you do one of those of me?’

He swung his arm round to indicate the caricature of the horsey customer on the wall, in all her toothy magnificence. ‘It’s funny,’ he said with a throaty giggle. He looked about seven, his rosy-cheeked face topped off with a sandy-coloured bowl-cut.

‘My mum said I could ask.’ He looked to where a woman with an almost identical hairstyle was approaching, pulling on a long, multicoloured garment like a blanket.

‘Sorry,’ she said, holding her hand out to the boy. ‘I told him not to bother you.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ he said, standing his ground. ‘You said I could do what I wanted for the rest of the day, because I didn’t bite the dentist this time.’

Through a crimson-faced smile, his mum said, ‘Don’t be silly, Jonty.’

‘I want a funny picture.’ He stamped his foot and wrapped his arms across his chest, tears welling in his conker-brown eyes.

People were staring and, keen to avert a full-scale meltdown, I nudged out the chair opposite with my foot. ‘I don’t mind,’ I said to his mum. ‘It won’t take long, if you’d like to sit down, Jonty.’

His mum’s blotchy face was washed with relief as Jonty obediently sat, all smiles now he’d got his own way. ‘Thank you,’ she said, dragging another chair over and arranging herself to watch. ‘There wasn’t much point taking him back to school after his dental appointment, and he’s a bit bored.’

Nan used to say ‘boredom’s the mother of invention’ if Rob and I had ever complained we had nothing to do – which wasn’t often as we’d been good at amusing ourselves.

‘No problem,’ I said, choosing a 5B pencil for dark lines with an air of assurance that surprised me, considering I hadn’t done this type of drawing for a while. ‘Do you like school?’ I asked Jonty, as I started to outline his features. He was sitting stiffly, head cocked – a bit like a ventriloquist’s dummy with his unnatural grin – and I wanted to get a feel for his personality.

‘I don’t like sums, but I like writing stories the best,’ he said, his features relaxing. He laced plump fingers in his lap. ‘My teacher says to write my own, but it’s easier if I copy from my Roald Dahl books, because they’re proper.’

‘Jonty hasn’t quite grasped the concept, yet,’ murmured his mum, craning her neck for a glimpse of my page, and I had to resist an urge to cover it with my forearm. ‘His latest title, “James and the Giant Peach”, was a bit of a giveaway.’

Hiding a smile, I drew quickly, picking out his hamster cheeks and slightly bulbous eyes, exaggerating his thatch of hair and widening his smile, while he chatted about his best friend’s pet parrot, who made a noise like a ringing phone.

I’d never been sure whether caricatures were cruel, highlighting what might be deemed to be faults – a big nose, or jug-ears – but most people seemed to be flattered or find them hilarious.

‘Oh, I love it,’ his mum said, clapping her hands when I’d finished, scribbling my name in the corner with a flourish. I ripped out the sheet and handed it to her, and Jonty studied it and giggled with his hand over his mouth.

‘Ooh, that’s good,’ said a passing woman. ‘Will you do me?’

‘How much?’ asked Jonty’s mum, rummaging out her purse. I was about to wave her away, when Gwen shouted from behind the counter, ‘Special price for one day only, ten pounds, cash,’ and, within the hour, I’d earned a handful of notes.

‘You can do me for free if you like,’ Gwen offered, as another satisfied customer departed, but not before showing the drawing to her partner, who laughed rather meanly and told me I’d captured her ‘witchy’ nose.

Gwen plonked herself on the vacated seat, sturdy legs akimbo, face mangled by a forbidding frown. ‘Do your worst,’ she said, placing her hands on meaty thighs that strained at the material of her trousers. ‘I already look like a cartoon.’

Mum whirled past, a proud little smile on her face, and for a second I imagined that this was my career: tucked away in a corner of the café, drawing people for money.

‘Is that it?’ said Gwen when I’d finished, her mouth tugged down at the corners. I’d more or less drawn her straight, worried she’d lamp me if I exaggerated what was already pretty scary. ‘Coward.’

But she took it anyway, and flashed it at Dad when he asked to see it.

‘Wow, you really went to town there,’ he chortled, stopping abruptly when he realised his mistake. ‘It’s almost four if you want to go and catch your bus,’ he said, looking chastened, and Gwen vanished without another word.

By the time I got home, I felt as though I’d done a day’s work, which was odd when I’d been sitting down for most of it, while Mum and Dad ran rings around me at the café.

When they arrived home half an hour later, I was on my laptop at the kitchen table, ordering a set of watercolour pencils, unusually energised. By contrast, they seemed tired, their usual cheerful banter noticeable by its absence.

‘Everything OK?’ I ventured, looking up as I completed my purchase. Mum had her head in the fridge, as if hoping a meal might magically assemble itself, while Dad was fiddling with the dials on the radio on the windowsill, flipping between stations. They both still had their coats on, and even their hair seemed less buoyant than usual.

‘Fine,’ Mum said, turning to flash me a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

‘All good, Pumpkin.’ Dad switched the radio off, and stared out of the window before moving across the kitchen and slapping the light on.

‘What did you do that for?’ Mum slammed the fridge and stamped over to turn the light off.

‘Sorry, love, I thought it was a bit dark in here,’ Dad said.

The sun had been swallowed by a tumble of grey clouds and, for the first time in hours, I remembered it was games night.

‘Why don’t you go and get ready and I’ll cook something quick,’ I suggested.

‘Ready?’ Poised by the doorway, they turned simultaneously to stare. I was reminded of a spooky film I’d once seen, about androids who looked like people, but didn’t react normally.

‘Ready for what?’ Dad said blankly.

A ripple of apprehension ran down my spine. ‘The games night?’

‘Oh god, I’d forgotten about that.’ Mum’s expression morphed into dismay. ‘I just can’t face it, love.’

‘What?’ Shaken, it was my turn to stare. Mum always faced things. She’d been facing things for decades. ‘It’s only a few board games for a couple of hours,’ I said, aware of a weakness around my knees, even though I was sitting down. ‘I thought you were looking forward to it.’

‘We did tell you that we liked our evenings in,’ Dad said quietly, resting a hand on Mum’s shoulder as if to stop her fleeing. ‘Apart from quiz nights at the pub.’

‘But…’ I’d been going to say it was only one measly night, but they were looking at me almost timidly now, as if I might go ballistic and start chucking things around. ‘Are you ill?’ The words burst through my lips before I could stop them.

‘Ill?’ Dad looked at Mum, as though verifying he had the right word.

‘Why would we be ill?’ Mum’s face crumpled. ‘Do we look ill?’ She rushed to the toaster and studied herself in the chrome surface. ‘I don’t think I look any different, do I?’ She pulled at the skin on her cheeks. ‘Maybe I should get my eyebrows done again, but it was so painful.’

‘You’re both being really weird,’ I said, wondering whether to mention overhearing their earlier conversation. ‘Is it Nan?’

‘Nan?’

‘Getting rid of her stuff and going environmental.’ I decided not to mention the bit about her preparing to meet her maker, in case they didn’t know.

‘You know we fully support your nan,’ Mum said, and Dad nodded his agreement.

‘Why are you being off, then?’

‘Oh, love, I’m sorry.’ Mum rushed over and hugged me from behind. ‘It’s just that we were kept awake last night by… a noise, like an alarm going off somewhere outside, weren’t we, Ed?’ I sensed her looking at Dad for confirmation.

‘That’s right.’ He nodded slowly, finally removing his anorak. ‘Quite piercing.’

‘I didn’t hear it,’ I said, not adding that I’d been awake half the night too.

‘It was out the front of the house, maybe a car alarm.’ It didn’t stack up, but I was too relieved that neither of them appeared to be ill to contradict him. ‘We’re absolutely fine,’ he added, nodding for emphasis. ‘Aren’t we, Lydia?’

Mum gave me a final squeeze before straightening up. ‘Nothing a nice hot shower won’t solve.’

‘And of course we’ll be there tonight.’ Dad became jaunty, tossing his coat into the hall, but it missed the hook and crumpled onto the floor. ‘It’ll be fun.’

Mum nodded, but her smile had a slightly pinched quality and I was overcome with guilt. They’d been on their feet for most of the day and were clearly tired out. It wasn’t fair to expect them to go back to work.

‘You don’t have to,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to manage on our own. Won’t we Robbie Robot?’ I said, as he came in, whistling.

‘Manage what?’ He threw his rucksack down and scanned our faces, and I guessed he was wondering whether I’d spilt his secret.

I threw him my best ‘I promised I wouldn’t tell and I meant it’ look and, seeming to understand, he gave a little nod. ‘The café, for a couple of hours this evening, so the parents can do whatever it is they do when they’re alone.’

‘Thanks for that image,’ Rob said.

‘Cassie,’ Mum scolded. ‘We certainly won’t be doing anything lewd.’

‘Lewd,’ Rob repeated and sniggered.

‘That’s a disappointment,’ Dad said, playfully tapping Mum’s bottom as she went into the hall, and Rob made a grossed out face that made me giggle. I kept forgetting how nice it was, us all being together. How much I’d missed the in-jokes and shorthand of family life.

‘Anyway, I can’t,’ he said. ‘I’m seeing Emma tonight.’ The look he gave me was loaded with significance. They must have baby stuff to moon about, and I could hardly argue with that.

‘I’ve told you, we’ll be there,’ Dad said, rubbing his hands together. ‘We want to support you.’

‘No.’ I’d made up my mind. It would be easier to network if they weren’t around. ‘Will Meg be coming in?’

‘Yes, and Tamsin,’ Mum said. ‘She was keen for a couple of extra hours’ work.’

‘Then we’ll be fine.’

‘But—’

‘Mum, I’ve helped in the café before, I can do it again.’

‘But not for years, and you’re supposed to be in charge of the event.’

‘The event will take care of itself,’ I said. I was beginning to wish I hadn’t arranged the event in the first place. It would have been nice to crash out in front of the television and have a think about my painting commissions – Evelyn’s daughter had already emailed a photo of Boo-Boo, a sad-eyed greyhound wearing a diamanté collar – but it was out of the question.

After a dinner of reheated macaroni cheese, I donned a work outfit of narrow black trousers and an ivory blouse with a pussy bow, and once I’d retrieved all the board games from the cupboard under the stairs and reassured Mum and Dad that I wouldn’t set the café alight or let any burglars in, they handed over the keys with surprising ease. Rob had borrowed their car to drive to Emma’s, and, as it was raining again, I took Sir Lancelot. I cursed the weather, worried that no one would bother turning out.

Meg and Tamsin were waiting when I arrived, and Meg gave a squeal of pleasure. ‘Just you?’ she said, when I’d let us in, and we’d put down our cake tins and board games.

‘I’ve relieved my parents of their duties,’ I said, and she gripped me in a Sumo-wrestler hug that felt nice. ‘Thanks for coming in.’ I included Tamsin, who gave a pleased little smile and a tiny wave, before going to hang up her silky bomber jacket.

‘Don’t be silly, it’s nice to have an excuse to get out in the evening.’ Meg let go of me. ‘It was either this, or looking at possible wedding venues again.’

‘You don’t sound too excited.’ I put my bag down, admiring the way her hair always behaved itself, while mine wouldn’t stay put for more than ten minutes. And I couldn’t carry off a fitted dress the way she did. ‘Aren’t you supposed to have turned into Bridezilla?’

‘God, no.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Is there such a thing as Mumzilla? If so, Sam's mother's it.’

‘Scary,’ I said, casting a critical eye around the café, unable to help a squeeze of pleasure when I spotted my artwork again.

‘I still can’t believe they’re yours.’ Meg had seen me looking. ‘I told Tilly, and she’s coming to have a look.’

‘Honestly, they’re nothing special,’ I said, but it was still nice to hear. ‘I might be doing some new stuff.’ I told her what had happened earlier, and she clasped her hands, the way she used to when she was really excited about something. ‘That’s amazing, Cassie,’ she said. ‘But should you be accepting commissions if you’re going back to London, soon?’

London. She might as well have said the moon. ‘I might be staying a while longer, I haven’t decided yet.’

‘Oh!’ Her eyes flicked wide. ‘I mean, that’s brilliant, but… this place?’ She scouted the room. ‘It’s not exactly what you’re used to, is it?’

‘No,’ I said, feeling something building inside me, but before I could say anything silly like ‘It’s better’, there was the sound of knuckles rapping on glass, and I turned to see a familiar figure, waving a Scrabble box in a plastic bag, and my heart did a triple somersault.

‘It’s Danny Fleetwood,’ said Meg, peering over the counter.

‘So it is.’ I smoothed back the annoying bit of hair that never went into my ponytail. ‘And it looks like he’s brought his mum.’