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In the background, the girls were arguing about whose turn it was on the iPad, and her brother-in-law was telling them to pack it in, in the tone of a man with no expectation of being obeyed.

“So that’s the plan,” Samantha said. “The house goes on the market. That pays for most of it, for a few years, anyway. Until it sells, the business covers the gap.”

“The business can cover three months. Four at a push. Not longer.”

“It’ll sell in three months.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Three agents said—”

“Three agents want the commission.” Carly pressed her fingers into her eyelids. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying if it doesn’t sell by March, we have a problem, and I need us both to know that now, not in March.”

“Fine. Noted. You have a problem in March.” The paper rustled again. “Anything else? Any more objections from accounts?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve done the visits, Carly. I’ve sat in four different lounges with four different managers who all call him your dad like they’ve known him for years. I’ve read every inspection report. I’ve rung the council about funding and been on hold for fifty minutes listening to Vivaldi. And every time I send you something, you send me back a spreadsheet.”

“Because someone has to make sure we can pay for it.”

“And someone has to make sure he’s somewhere he won’t be miserable!”

It cracked down the line. Even the girls went quiet.

Carly stared at the flickering security light. She wanted to say that she knew. That she’d done the spreadsheets in the middle of the night because she couldn’t sleep for thinking about him miserable. That numbers were the only part of this she could hold without dropping.

She didn’t say any of it.

“The conservatory one,” she said instead. “It’s a good choice. You’ve done well.”

Samantha’s breath shook. “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do. That’s what’s so annoying.” A sniff, quickly smothered. “You know he hasn’t agreed to any of this.”

“I know.”

“He won’t talk to me about it. Every time I bring it up, he looks at the telly. He turned the volume up on me on Sunday. Turned the volume up. I’m a grown woman with two children, and my father turned the volume up on me.”

Despite everything, Carly almost laughed. “That sounds like him.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s a bit funny.”

“It’s a bit funny,” Samantha conceded. Then, carefully: “He’ll listen to you.”

Carly saw it coming a split second too late to get out of the way. She was the one he’d taught to drive in the gym car park on Sunday mornings. The one who’d followed him into the army. In his gruff, wordless way, he had always listened to her.

“I’ll tell him,” Carly said.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“You’ve got training.”