‘We can still have them,’ said John-Paul. He brushed his fingers automatically across Cecilia’s lower back as he walked past her to the kitchen table. ‘Your mother’s hot cross buns are so good they don’t need butter.’

Cecilia watched him. He was pale and a little shaky, as if he was recovering from the flu, and he seemed in a tremulous, tender mood.

She found herself waiting for something to happen – the shrill ring of the phone, a heavy knock on the door – but the day continued to be cloaked in soft safe silence. Nothing would happen on a Good Friday. Good Friday was in its own protective little bubble.

‘We always have our hot cross buns with lots and lots of butter,’ said Polly, who was sitting at the kitchen table in her pink flannelette pyjamas, her black hair rumpled, her cheeks flushed with sleep. ‘It’s a family tradition. Just go to the shop, Mum, and get some butter.’

‘Don’t speak to your mother like that. She’s not your slave,’ said John-Paul, at the same time as Esther glanced up from her library book and said, ‘The shops are closed, stupid.’

‘Whatever,’ sighed Isabel. ‘I’m going to go Skype with –’

‘No you’re not,’ said Cecilia. ‘We’re all going to eat some porridge, and then we’re all going to walk up to the school oval.’

‘Walk?’ said Polly disdainfully.

‘Yes, walk. It’s turned into a beautiful day. Or ride your bikes. We’ll take the soccer ball.’

‘I’m on Dad’s team,’ said Isabel.

‘And then on the way back we’ll stop by at the BP service station and pick up some butter, and we’ll have hot cross buns when we get home.’

‘Perfect,’ said John-Paul. ‘That sounds perfect.’

‘Did you know that some people wish the Berlin Wall never come down?’ said Esther. ‘That’s weird, isn’t it? Why would you want to be stuck behind a wall?’

‘Well, that was lovely, but I really should go,’ said Rachel. She placed her mug back down on the coffee table. Her duty was done. She shifted herself forward and took a breath. It was another one of those impossibly low couches. Could she stand up on her own? Lauren would get there first if she saw she was having difficulty. Rob was always just a moment too late.

‘What are you doing for the rest of the day?’ asked Lauren.

‘I’ll just potter about,’ said Rachel. I’ll just count the minutes. She held out a hand to Rob. ‘Give me a hand will you, love?’

As Rob went to help her, Jacob toddled over with a framed photo he’d picked up from the bookcase and brought it over to Rachel. ‘Daddy,’ he said, pointing.

‘That’s right,’ said Rachel. It was a photo of Rob and Janie on a camping holiday they’d taken on the south coast the year before Janie died. They were standing in front of a tent, and Rob was holding his fingers up like rabbit ears behind Janie’s head. Why did children insist on doing that?

Rob came and stood next to them and pointed at his sister. ‘And who’s that, buddy?’

‘Auntie Janie,’ said Jacob clearly.

Rachel caught her breath. She’d never heard him say ‘Auntie Janie’ before, although she and Rob had been pointing her out in photos to him since he was a tiny baby.

‘Clever boy.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Your Aunt Janie would have loved you.’

Although, in truth, Janie had never been particularly interested in children. She’d preferred constructing cities with Rob’s Lego to playing with dolls.

Jacob gave her a cynical look, as if he knew this, and wandered off with the photo frame swinging precariously between his fingertips. Rachel put her hand in Rob’s and he helped her to her feet.

‘Well, thank you so much, Lauren –’ she began, and was disconcerted to see that Lauren was staring at the floor with a fixed expression, as if she was pretending not to be there.

‘Sorry,’ she gave them a watery smile. ‘It was just hearing Jacob say “Auntie Janie” for the first time. I don’t know how you get through this day, Rachel, every year, I really don’t. I just wish I could do something.’

You could not take my grandson to New York, thought Rachel. You could stay here and have another baby. But she just smiled politely and said, ‘Thank you, darling. I’m perfectly all right.’

Lauren stood. ‘I wish I’d known her. My sister-in-law. I always wanted a sister.’ Her face was pink and soft. Rachel looked away. She couldn’t bear it. She didn’t want to see evidence of Lauren’s vulnerability.

‘I’m sure she would have loved you.’ Rachel sounded perfunctory, even to her own ears that she coughed, embarrassed. ‘Well. I’ll be off. Thank you for coming to the park with me today. It meant a lot to me. I’ll look forward to seeing you on Sunday. At your parents’ house!’

She tried her best to inject some enthusiasm into her voice, but Lauren had closed her face back up and recovered her poise.

‘Lovely,’ she said coolly, and leaned forward to brush her lips against her cheek. ‘By the way, Rachel, Rob said he told you to bring a pavlova, but that’s really not necessary.’

‘It’s no trouble at all, Lauren,’ said Rachel.

She thought she heard Rob sigh.

‘So, now Will is going to make an appearance?’ Lucy leaned heavily on Tess’s arm as they stood on the front porch watching Felicity’s taxi turn the corner at the end of the street. Liam had disappeared inside somewhere. ‘This is like a play. Evil mistress exits stage right. Enter chastened husband.’

‘She’s not really an evil mistress,’ said Tess. ‘She said she’s been in love with him for years.’

‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Lucy. ‘Silly girl. Plenty of fish in the sea! Why must she want your fish?’

‘He’s a pretty good fish, I guess.’

‘Do I take it you forgive him then?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I can. I feel like he’s only choosing me because of Liam. I feel like he’s settling for me. For second best.’

The thought of seeing Will filled her with almost unbearable confusion. Would she cry? Yell? Fall into his arms? Slap him across the face? Offer him a hot cross bun? He loved hot cross buns. Obviously he didn’t deserve one. ‘You’re not getting a bun, babe.’ That was the thing. It was just Will. It was impossible to imagine how she’d maintain the level of drama and gravitas the situation required. Especially with Liam there. But then again, he wasn’t Will, because the real Will would never have allowed this to happen. So this was a stranger.

Her mother studied her. Tess waited for a wise, loving comment.

‘I assume you’re not going to see him in those raggedy old pyjamas are you, darling? And you are going to give your hair a good brush, I hope?’

Tess rolled her eyes. ‘He’s my husband. He knows what I look like first thing in the morning. And if he’s that superficial, then I don’t want him.’

‘Yes, you’re right of course,’ said Lucy. She tapped her lower lip. ‘Gosh, Felicity was looking particularly lovely today, wasn’t she?’

Tess laughed. Maybe she would feel more resilient if she was dressed. ‘Fine, Mum, I’ll go put a ribbon in my hair and pinch my cheeks. Come on, cripple, I don’t know why you had to come outside to see her off.’

‘I didn’t want to miss any of the action.’

‘They never did sleep together, you know,’ whispered Tess as she held the screen door with one hand and her mother’s elbow with the other.

‘Seriously?’ said Lucy. ‘How peculiar. In my day infidelity was a much raunchier affair.’

‘I’m ready!’ Liam came running down the hallway.

‘For what?’ said Tess.

‘To go fly a kite with that teacher. Mr Whatby or whatever his name is.’

‘Connor,’ breathed Tess, and nearly lost hold of her mother. ‘Shit. What time is it? I’d forgotten.’