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genie from his oil burner.
    ‘Well,’ he said finally. ‘I see. It makes excellent sense.’
    I’d never felt so grateful. Having Dad’s blessing changed everything. ‘You’ll come and visit?’ I asked.
    ‘Hope so, if I can square my conscience with the carbon output. In the meantime, let’s organise one of those terrifying video internet things. Then I’ll be able to see the boys’ cheeky grins, and my Sacha becoming the woman who’s going to save the world.’
    ‘Our house is on the market.’
    ‘I know.’ Dad plonked the kettle onto the stove, and crystal spheres bounced across the cast iron. ‘I saw a bloomin’ great orange sign.’
    ‘You saw . . . when?’
    ‘Um, let me see . . . Thursday last week? I dropped by. There was nobody in.’ He bent to stroke Bernard’s smooching little body, and the cat licked his hand. ‘So I’ve been waiting for you to visit.’
    I felt terrible. We should have fronted up days ago but initially it hadn’t seemed real; more like a computer-generated cyber adventure.
    ‘How are the children?’ asked Dad, sitting down opposite me. ‘Excited?’
    ‘Sacha’s not.’
    ‘No.’ He smiled gently. ‘She’s sixteen, never known any other life.’
    ‘But New Zealand is a teenager’s paradise! Beaches, mountains, athletic young hunks who surf and play rugby and generally live life to the max.’
    ‘Perhaps she’d rather have Ivan.’
    I harrumphed. ‘Have you met Ivan?’
    ‘I have, actually. She brought him here. A steady young man, I thought.’
    ‘Steady! Yes, that’s a good, limp-wristed word, Dad. I like that. It encapsulates everything about Ivan Jones.’
    Dad tapped the table. ‘You should be grateful for steady , Martha. You’re much too quick to dismiss people. It isn’t wise. Be careful what you wish for.’
    I forced back another mouthful of his brew, making a face. ‘This is vile.’
    ‘Dandelion root. Marvellous for your liver.’
    ‘Yeuch. Look, Ivan is a nice lad. I bear him no ill will. If he was my babysitter I’d break out the chocolate Hobnobs. But he has all the charisma of a supermarket trolley and he does not figure in Sacha’s future.’
    Dad just chuckled.
    ‘I caught her smoking the other day,’ I said. ‘She came back from Lydia’s house smelling like a hobo. I found some cigarettes in her pocket.’
    ‘You searched her pockets?’
    ‘Kit thinks I should turn a blind eye. He says Sacha has never rebelled before and a little bit of acting out is a good thing—we don’t want her to be a prig.’
    ‘Smart lad! I’d add my sixpence to that and ask you, Mrs Goody-Two-Shoes McNamara, to explain what you were doing in my potting shed at the age of fourteen.’
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘Martha, you used to sit in my deckchair and puff away like a dark satanic mill. I know for a fact you took a cup of cocoa so you could drop your fag in it if anyone came along.’
    ‘Says who?’
    ‘I took a swig one time. Not a mistake I’d make twice.’
    I grimaced. ‘Okay, fair cop. Did Mum know?’
    ‘Don’t be silly. Why would I tell her ? When did you give up?’
    ‘Pretty quickly. Couldn’t afford it.’
    ‘There you are, you see? If I’d burst in like the drug squad, it wouldn’t have made a scrap of difference. You had your waltz with nicotine and moved on—unlike Louisa, admittedly. Sacha will do the same if you leave her be. Probably has already.’
    I sighed. ‘God help her if she turns out like me. What a blueprint.’
    We fell into companionable silence. A blackbird warbled, out in the rain. It was a wonderfully English sound. Bernard’s tail flicked.
    At length, Dad stirred. ‘Had any interest in the house?’
    ‘Some.’
    ‘Offers?’
    ‘Nope. Sacha must be telling everyone the place is haunted.’
    ‘Martha.’ He regarded me carefully. ‘D’you want this?’
    ‘Kit—’
    ‘I didn’t ask what Kit wants.’
    ‘I’m terrified,’ I confessed, sagging. ‘I’ve worked in