Eleanor hugs Willow close when we arrive at Darlington House, as she has each time she’s seen her over the last few weeks.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Willow says, not for the first time.
‘No, it’s me who should be sorry,’ Eleanor says, as she always does.
Eleanor has cooked dinner for the six of us and after a glass of wine; we take our seats around the oak dining table.
As we tuck into roast chicken and vegetables, Becky talks about her friend Tamsyn – she’s back with George, apparently – and about her pending trip to America, which had been delayed because of what happened; ‘Dad’s taking me to the Statue of Liberty and Central Park.’ I know I have to let her go, but it won’t be easy.
Dad, a roast potato suspended on his fork, animatedly tells us about their trip to Scotland, ‘You really must visit Glencoe, Fort William and Urquhart Castle.’ And his mates at the Fox and Hound. ‘They fancy doing a bit of metal detecting. How much do you think a decent metal detector costs? Apparently a man found a coin worth thousands.’
‘We’re thinking of getting a gardener,’ Eleanor says. ‘It’s getting too much for us now we’re sixty. I keep wondering if we should downsize.’
‘We’ve had such good weather, haven’t we?’ I say, when we lapse into silence.
‘Global warming,’ Dad says. ‘We must listen to David Attenborough.’
‘Hey, Rose,’ Aaron says, waving his fork. ‘There’s a Frank Sinatra tribute act at the Gordon Craig Theatre, fancy it?’
‘I’ll come,’ Becky says, moving her dinner around her plate, barely eating. Things are a long way from being right, but we’ll get there.
‘I like your hair, Mum,’ Willow says to Eleanor. It’s shorter. It suits her.
We talk, we even laugh, but we keep off the subject of Rory Thompson and everything that’s happened. We desperately need to be a normal family again – for today, at least.