Sunshine and Spaniels. Cressida McLaughlin

– can I ask your name?’

      ‘I have to go.’

      ‘Please. They were so worried they’d upset you. I think they were trying to help.’

      ‘What would you know? Girls,’ she called, turning away, ‘wash your hands. Now. No complaints.’ She faced Cat again. ‘Look, Cat, is it?’

      Cat nodded.

      ‘Thanks for bringing them back, but I need to get on.’

      ‘It’s just that—’ Cat stopped, wondering how to broach the subject.

      The girls’ mother eyed her suspiciously. ‘What?’

      ‘Lizzie and Emma might have mentioned that…that you could do with some help.’

      The young woman’s eyes widened. ‘They what?’

      ‘The thing is,’ Cat hurried, ‘I run a dog-walking business now, and this event that Lizzie noticed – well, she mentioned that sometimes, with the baby, it’s hard for you to get out. With Olaf. Hard for you to all have time together.’ She swallowed and crossed her fingers behind her back. This had potentially been another of her Worst Ideas Ever, and she didn’t want to patronize the woman or make her feel that she was a bad mother. She didn’t want to get the girls in trouble either.

      The young woman looked at her for so long that Cat thought she might have somehow become invisible, but then she pushed the door open wider, and Cat could see the hallway beyond. ‘They said that, did they? About spending time together?’

      Cat nodded.

      The girls’ mother rubbed her eyes and gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘I’m Frankie,’ she said quietly. ‘They shouldn’t have done that, gone to the park. They know the rules.’ She gestured for Cat to come in.

      ‘They’re back though,’ Cat said, ‘and they’re fine.’

      ‘It’s bloody hard at the moment, with Henry and my shifts at the restaurant. My two girls are basically sorting themselves out, and I know it’s not fair – they’re still so young.’

      She led the way into the living room, which was similar to the one at number nine, except that everything was bright, a myriad of colours. The sofas were red, the distressed wooden coffee tables dark purple, and the white walls were barely visible, covered in kids’ drawings, chains of seashells, a living scrapbook of Frankie and her family. Toys, magazines and clothes in various sizes covered every surface, a pale pink gauze hung across the doorway into the kitchen, and the threadbare carpet was hidden beneath a round, rainbow-swirl rug. It wasn’t tidy, but it was vibrant and full of life.