I’d finished my water and the olives, visited the loo, checked my eyeliner wings hadn’t smudged, and was trying to fashion a swan with my napkin, when there was a kerfuffle at the door and Mum and Dad came over, their faces wreathed in smiles.

My jaw dropped. ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, as the waiter shoved another table over to make more seating.

‘Danny called and said you were here on your own, and would we like to come for dinner.’ Mum bent to kiss my cheek and took off her coat, releasing a scent of ‘Evening in Paris’, before sitting beside me and smiling up at the waiter.

‘But… haven’t you eaten already?’ I said, as Dad sat opposite Mum and unwound his scarf. They’d both put on smart tops and brushed their hair, and Mum was wearing lipstick.

‘We hadn’t actually got round to eating.’ Dad tipped Mum a wink and a flush coloured her face.

‘You two are disgusting.’ Now the shock was wearing off, I realised how pleased I was to see them. I’d assumed that Danny had been planning to wheel out a series of dishes for me to sample, to impress me with, not invite my parents over for dinner. ‘You didn’t have to come.’

‘We wanted to,’ Mum said, pressing my knee.

‘We don’t see enough of you as it is, love.’ Dad leaned over and gave my hand a squeeze.

‘We’re really sorry that Adam let you down though,’ added Mum.

‘It’s fine,’ I said – and it was. Maybe I could just relax and be myself. For a while, at least. We turned as voices signalled more arrivals, and I was stunned to see Rob saunter in with Nan on one arm, and a wide-eyed brunette with a wavy bob, cupid’s bow lips, and a feline gaze on the other. I hadn’t seen Emma for ages, and was surprised to see how soft she looked. In my mind, she’d morphed into a hard-faced harridan, fuelled by the memory of how she’d ordered Rob around last Christmas, not letting him drink more than a couple of beers, and whipping away the wine bottle whenever he reached for it. Now, I understood why.

‘Look who we found,’ Rob said, leading Nan over as though she was the Queen.

‘I do like Emma’s car.’ She cast a gracious smile around. ‘It’s electric, very good for the environment.’

‘I can’t believe you’re all here,’ I said, as the waiter brought over a couple of extra chairs. Standing, I drew Nan into a hug, pleased to see she’d eschewed her bamboo robe in favour of a pleated skirt, and a sparkly, silver cardigan that complimented her coil of hair.

‘I kept a few clothes back, just in case, chérie,’ she said, seeing me looking, her face tinged pink with pleasure. She was wearing eyeshadow too.

‘Hear you got stood up,’ said Rob, flicking my bare shoulder. ‘Looks like the moths have been at your frock.’

‘No one says frock any more.’ I punched his upper arm. ‘Hi, Emma.’

‘Hi, Cassie, you look lovely.’ She gave Rob a reproving look, but her face quickly relaxed back into a friendly smile.

‘I hear congratulations are in order.’

Her hands automatically shot to her still flat stomach, and her eyes had a gleam of happiness. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s due in October.’

‘Ooh, our wedding anniversary’s in October,’ Mum said, giving Emma’s fingers an excited squeeze. ‘Twenty fifth,’ she added, helpfully.

‘Maybe it’ll come on that very day and we can have a double celebration.’ Rob escorted Nan to the seat facing me, before he and Emma settled at opposite ends of the tables.

‘The Maitlands, all together under one roof.’ Dad looked round with a wide, satisfied smile. ‘And none of you are glued to your rectangular sweethearts, either.’ That’s how he referred to mobile phones.

‘I’m honoured to be included,’ said Emma, and as if the tone had been set we all beamed at each other, until the waiter cleared his throat and asked, ‘Shall I bring some champagne?’

Danny’s food was a revelation; three courses of perfection, starting with a simple but delicious leek soup that we inhaled in about three seconds. My cod with chorizo on a ‘tangle’ of pea shoots tasted as good as Danny had promised it would, and Dad was chuffed to finally be cooked a steak exactly how he liked it – ‘rare, but not still mooing’. Emma, who was vegetarian, praised the ‘heritage’ carrots; while Mum raved about her ‘melt-in-the-mouth’ scallops; and Nan, who appeared to have thrown her new environmentally friendly eating regime out of the window, declared her venison the best she’d eaten outside France, which Dad said was so long ago he was surprised she could still remember.

She tapped his arm with a spoon. ‘There are lots of things I remember about living in France,’ she said. ‘We should take a trip there one day.’ Immediately the words were out, she dropped her eyes to her plate as if she hadn’t spoken.

The air pressure around the table seemed to change, apart from where Rob was shovelling braised hare into his mouth as though a famine was forecast.

I put down my knife and fork. ‘Mum and Dad were saying they’re a bit worried about your new lifestyle,’ I said, in case they’d decided that being too honest with Nan might prove cataclysmic. ‘It takes up so much of your time, they don’t see as much of you as they’d like.’

Nan put down the glass of champagne she’d been about to knock back. ‘You know I don’t want to be a burden.’ Her gaze slid to Dad. ‘I’ve put you through too much as it is, Edmund.’

‘You were never a burden,’ Dad said quietly.

She stared at him with a tremulous expression of hope that was hard to look at. ‘Really?’

He opened his mouth, closed it again, looked at Mum, then at his empty plate, and nodded. ‘Never,’ he said. ‘And I don’t like to think of you going without your comforts, Mum, especially at your age. Not that you’re past it, far from it, but we’d like you to come down to the café sometimes, or over to ours for lunch. We know you’re busy with your hobbies, and saving the planet, and we wouldn’t want to discourage you, but it would be nice to make time for each other.’

Nan’s face suffused with pleasure. ‘But you’ve already done so much for me, Edmund. You shouldn’t have to look out for me any more.’

‘I know you can take care of yourself,’ he said, looking at her sideways. ‘But you’re my mother, and I love you, and want to spend time with you while I still can.’

‘I’m not at death’s door,’ she scolded gently. ‘I’m very healthy these days, but thank you.’ Smiling with watery eyes, she rested her veiny hand on his arm, and leaned in close so their heads were almost touching. ‘La vie est une fleur,’ she said. ‘Life is a flower,’ and, for once, Dad didn’t roll his eyes. Instead, he draped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her hair. ‘I have something for you, Edmund.’ She tilted towards her handbag and pulled something out. It was the photo album she’d hurled across her living room and threatened to burn, looking a bit battered around the edges. ‘I thought you might like this,’ she said, briefly catching my eye as she pushed it in front of Dad. ‘There are some lovely pictures in there, of you and your papa.’

Dad’s face worked as he gazed at it for a moment – perhaps thinking about all the memories it contained – before resting a hand on Nan’s and saying in a strangled voice, ‘Thank you. I’ll have a look through it, later.’

Mum sniffed and hiccupped, and said, ‘Aw, now, isn’t that lovely?’ and I had to blink a few times to clear my vision.

‘It’s like a Hallmark movie,’ said Rob, now he’d stopped eating, a big smile puffing up his cheeks. Then I realised it wasn’t the smile; his cheeks were stuffed with food.

‘Sylvia, we’re not happy about you slaughtering chickens,’ Mum burst out.

Nan reached over and patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, Lydia,’ she said. ‘Danny’s had no luck finding me a coq.’ Rob sniggered. ‘I’m going to stick with some laying hens, for eggs.’

After we’d finished dessert – I wanted to marry my melt-on-the-tongue chocolate fondant – Danny appeared, his face pink from the heat of the kitchen. ‘Everything OK?’

Everyone spoke at once, about the deliciousness of the food and how clever he was (‘Your parents must be so proud of you,’ Mum gushed), and as he deflected their praise, saying, ‘I’m sure any one of you could have thrown it together,’ and ‘Did you know the heritage carrots were from Sylvia’s garden?’ it hit me just how badly I’d underestimated him. I’d presumed he was going to try to win me over with a flashy show of his cooking skills but, instead, he’d given me an evening to treasure with my family.

‘How did you know they’d be hungry?’ I said, when our plates had been cleared by the quietly efficient waiter, and Dad had been told to put his wallet away, and everyone was gathering up bags and jackets, ready to head home for a nightcap.

‘I didn’t,’ he said with a relaxed grin, as if he hadn’t been slaving in the kitchen for the past two hours. ‘But I knew they’d want to see you.’

Not sure how to deal with the surge of clashing emotions his words had aroused, I stood up and said reached for my purse. ‘I’d like to pay,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it’s right that Adam should foot the bill for my family’s greed.’

‘It’s on the house.’ Danny grabbed my credit card and pretended to snap it in two, before passing it back. ‘I’ve been wanting to practise that hare recipe for ages, and I can’t claim credit for the desserts. They were made by the chef I job share with.’

‘Seems an odd kind of job share,’ I said, when I should have been thanking him from the bottom of my heart, like any civilised person would have. ‘Don’t you ever think about doing it full time?’

He pulled his head back. ‘I’ve already told you my work philosophy, Cassie.’ His eyebrows rose. ‘I can always pick up more hours if I need to, and I’ve got a good pension plan, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Why would I be worried?’ I rubbed my wrist, which was starting to itch again. ‘You can do whatever you like.’

‘We all can,’ he said, smoothing a hand around his jaw. ‘It’s not that difficult, really.’ When I rolled my eyes, he grinned. ‘Have a nice time at your party in London tomorrow night.’

So, he had been listening. ‘Thanks,’ I mumbled, bending to pick up my napkin which had slid to the floor.

‘You coming, Cassie?’ Mum called.

I straightened to see everyone waiting for me by the door. ‘On my way,’ I said, waving the napkin. ‘Listen, Danny…’ I turned, ready to thank him properly, but he’d already gone and the door to the kitchen was swinging softly shut.

---

Back home, we assembled in the living room. Dad, in a celebratory mood, opened the bottle of whisky that normally only came out at Christmas. ‘I think a toast is in order,’ he said, pouring out generous measures – and an orange juice for Emma and Rob – and we toasted the parents-to-be.

‘I’ve said Rob can move in with me now,’ she said. ‘At least that way, I can keep an eye on him, and he gets to see what morning sickness really looks like.’

‘Yay!’ Rob, oddly delighted by this unsavoury scenario, cuffed her shoulder and she grabbed his hand and kissed it and, seeing them together, it suddenly made sense why he’d chosen to be with her. Emma was ‘home’, and that’s what he’d craved more than anything while he was drinking in anonymous hotel rooms. It’s what I’d craved at times, too, only I’d been far too busy working to do anything about it, and had ignored any pangs of loneliness I’d felt, putting it down to not having time for a relationship.

‘Isn’t this lovely?’ Nan said, settling herself on the sofa where, a mere two weeks ago, I’d walked in on Mum and Dad… smooching was the only word my brain would allow. ‘I’d like to invite you all to mine on Sunday for home-grown vegetable soup.’

‘You haven’t got any furniture,’ I pointed out, easing my shoes off and raking my fingers through my hair. ‘Where are we supposed to sit?’ Then I remembered, I probably wouldn’t be there. If I was going to Adam’s party on Saturday night, there was no way I’d be back in Seashell Cove in time for Sunday lunch. ‘Oh, I’ll ask Danny to bring some of it back,’ Nan said breezily, as though he was a genie she could summon with a rub of a lamp. ‘Que sera, sera.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ Dad smiled at Mum, who nodded.

‘We’ll be there.’

‘I’ll be using water from my butt,’ Nan said.

A horrified silence rang out, which I allowed to stretch to snapping point, before saying, ‘She means her water butt.’

‘Thank Christ for that,’ said Rob, through his fingers.

‘Oh, Cassie, I had another enquiry at the café today, about your drawings,’ Mum said. ‘The vicar’s wife is throwing a garden party on the May Bank Holiday, and wondered how much you’d charge to draw the guests. Not all of them, but some. Oh, and we sold another of your paintings. Gwen charged nearly two hundred pounds and they didn’t even blink.’

‘I’m not surprised, they’re wonderful,’ Nan cried, looking delighted as she raised her whisky glass again. ‘I’m so glad I kept one,’ she added. ‘It was the one of your parents in the café.’

Dad’s smile was a bit tearful and he cleared his throat a couple of times. I noticed the photo album on the arm of the chair, and guessed he would probably look through it later, with Mum. ‘You’re going to have to do some new ones, or the wall will be bare again,’ he said.

’Will you be home by then?’ Mum tugged me down next to her on the sofa, where she was squashed next to Nan.

‘Sorry?’

‘I was saying, you’ll pop back for the May Bank Holiday, won’t you?’

‘Back?’

‘From London?’

‘Remember to take plenty of breaks in this new job of yours,’ Dad said, going a bit red at his unaccustomed sternness. Or maybe it was the whisky. He’d already emptied his glass. ‘You won’t be able to do much painting, otherwise.’

Why were they all talking about painting, instead of asking me about my new job? I fixed my eyes on Emma’s round-toed shoes, which would have made the feet of someone with less slender ankles look like hooves. ‘I will,’ I said, discreetly chafing my wrist against my thigh.

‘Look at us, we’re turning into the Waltons.’ Rob leaned his head on Emma’s shoulder. They were nestled so close in the armchair, they looked like they were zipped together. ‘You’re going to miss this, Sandra.’

There appeared to be a tennis ball lodged in my throat, blocking normal speech.

‘She knows where we are, Rob, and I’m sure she’ll be back whenever she can, won’t you, love?’ said Mum.

As I nodded mutely, my phone vibrated.

It was a text from Adam.

He had a nickname for me. One with criminal connotations, but still. I’d never had a nickname before (Sandra didn’t count). Even Danny called me by my actual name.

I imagined Adam meeting me at King’s Cross tomorrow, and us falling into each other’s arms, and suddenly everything fell into place and I knew what I had to do.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, standing up. ‘I just need to make a call.’