“Shit,” Willa said, “this is what he does.”

“Who does what?” Cat said.

Willa, blinking rapidly, said, “Dad. He never gives us any warning. We never know when he’s coming home. Sorry. Can you—” She stopped. “Look, stay here a minute, will you? I just need to help Mum a sec—” She grabbed our plates and dashed after her mother, leaving us alone on the terrace.

“That was odd,” Cat said.

I stood up and brushed myself down, waiting to say hello. I’ve always loved meeting people’s parents, just as I’ve always loved for people to meet mine. Cat stood too, and we turned our heads toward the open doors of the conservatory. Hang on, what? I did a double take, then glanced at Cat. Inside, Willa appeared to be splaying a group of magazines into a perfect half-moon. Cat threw me a questioning look. Was it some kind of joke? If my dad had just arrived home, I’d be running out to meet him. As for tidying up—splaying magazines—that would be the last thing on my mind. Why would she even think about that? It occurred to me then that I knew very little about Willa’s father. She’d told me lots of things about her mother, and Laika, of course, but she’d hardly ever said a word about her dad. Something felt odd.

Even more bizarrely, when Bianka and Willa reappeared on the terrace just a few minutes later, accompanied now by a large man with a head of thick silvered hair, both had changed into floral tea dresses, long enough to cover their knees.

“I hear we have company.”

I held out my hand, grinning. “I’m Robyn,” I said. “This is Cat.”

“Bryce.” He smiled at us warmly, leaning forward to shake our hands. “Great to have you with us,” he said. “I do hope you’ll be comfortable. You must let my wife and daughter know if there is anything you need. Anything at all.”

“Of course,” Bianka said. “Now then, girls, as I was saying, I’m afraid the old pool was drained years ago so we can’t offer you a swim. But what we can do, is go for a walk.”

“That’s right,” Willa said, looking at her dad. “We absolutely promised we’d take them to see the White Cliffs.”

They had?

“Look at that,” Bianka said, her voice as shiny as the delicate gold watch on her wrist. “The time must have run away with us. We had better get going.”

***

Moments later we were back in the car and driving toward the coast. Willa and her mother sat glassy-eyed and silent in the front seats of the convertible. There was no music. I tried throwing out one conversational opener after another, but my words just got swept away by the wind. Eventually I gave up. Bianka parked the car and the four of us walked along the top of an airy cliff. The distant Channel of filmy sea rumbled and hissed hundreds of meters below us.

“Wow,” I said, “look at the views. You can see France.”

Bianka looked around and seemed slowly to come back into herself, as if she’d just wandered out of a wood. “It’s the highest chalk sea cliff in the UK,” she said. “One hundred and sixty-two meters.”

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Willa said. “This is my go-to spot whenever I need to think.”

“I don’t know,” Cat said. “Personally I find it completely terrifying. Why aren’t there any fences? Bloody hell—look at those idiots taking photos right next to the edge. One misstep and they’d be over.”

“How about I run and get us all some ice creams?” I said. We’d arrived at a bench. “I spotted a van in the car park.”

“Let me get them,” Bianka said.

“No, no,” I said, “our treat. This is on us.”

“Let me help,” Cat said quickly. “You two stay here and enjoy the view.”

It was only when we were halfway across the grass that Cat, keeping her voice low and her head straight ahead, said, “What’s with the frocks?”

I pulled a Don’t know expression, my mind scrabbling. There was something else different too, something I hadn’t been able to put my finger on, and only now did it dawn on me exactly what it was.

“Willa’s not wearing her dolphin,” I said. “She never takes it off.”

***

Ten minutes later, making our way back with tall waffle cones stuffed with ice cream, we realized we could hear shouting, but it took us a long moment to connect the commotion to our friends.

Cat said, “What the fuck?”

From halfway across a wide expanse of grass, Bianka—Bianka—appeared to be kicking a man with a dog, and it was her voice whipping toward us across the grass, her voice shouting You fucking fucking bastard.

We started running just as Bianka hit the man square in the face. He staggered backward, then fell, hitting the ground with a thud. Instantly she straddled him, pinning him to the ground, all the time yelling Let go of the fucking dog, while Willa tugged at her shoulder, screaming at her mother to get off. Now Bianka had her hands tight round the man’s neck, strangling him. As his face turned scarlet the man let go of the lead and, finding itself free, the little dog shot off across the grass. Willa shouted Jesus, somebody get the dog, then, at Bianka, He’s let go, but Bianka didn’t stop. It was almost like she couldn’t stop. Cat and I threw the ice creams to the ground and the three of us physically had to pull her off. The man bolted, shouting Crazy fucking bitch as he went.

By now people were running toward us, but the man was already gone. It was all over.

Wild-eyed and panting, Bianka was looking about her, the silk tea dress ripped open across the front. “The dog,” she said, breathing heavily. “The dog.”

“What’s going on?” some woman asked, and a man with an American accent said, “I reckon that jerk was trying to steal her dog.”

“Should we call somebody?” the woman said. “The police?”

Then somebody walked up and said, “Here. I’ve got your pup. Lucky for you it didn’t run toward the edge.”

Another woman put a comforting hand on Bianka’s shoulder. “I’m all right now,” she said. “Thank you. I can take it from here.” Evidently, she wasn’t on her own, and, as there really was nothing more for people to see, the people who had gathered round just faded away. Bianka sat down on the bench with the dog on her lap and loosened the string around its neck. It was a black, scruffy little thing and small too, just a puppy. Willa sat beside her. Cat and I stayed standing.

“What—happened?”

“That bastard,” Bianka said, “was kicking his dog.” She closed her eyes and buried her head in the puppy’s fur.

I leaned down and touched its soft coat. “Looks like you just acquired a pet,” I said.

“Oh, no,” Bianka said, tears welling in her eyes. “I couldn’t keep it.”

“Why not?” I said, instantly picturing their large, secure garden.

Bianka’s head made a strange jerking movement. “I just couldn’t,” she said. She kissed his little head. “Anyway, we should probably get him to a vet.”

***

At supper that night, which was served in a formal dining room, Bryce asked how our afternoon had gone. Good question, I thought, get this. I sat up and looked across to where Bianka sat in a fresh dress and immaculate makeup, fascinated to know how she might even begin.

“Very good, all things considered,” Bianka said. With a delicate motion, she dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “The weather was perfect for an afternoon stroll.”

“We had ice creams,” Willa said.

I paused, my fork halfway to my mouth, and glanced at Cat. Neither Willa nor her mother were making eye contact with either of us.

Bryce looked back at his plate, then glanced back up. “How d’you get that scratch?”

Bianka touched her cheek with her index finger, running it along the length of a thin red line. “I had a little to-do with some brambles,” she said. “I really must get them cut back.”