“Do you know the world record for the most broken bones?” said Jack now. He had the Guinness World Records book open on the table next to him and was turning the pages while he ate. He didn’t wait for anyone to answer.

“Thirty-five! Some dude called Evel Knievel.”

“Really! I didn’t think we had that many bones!” said Maureen. She was acting particularly interested in the book to show that she didn’t mind that Jack had put aside her gift for Anne’s.

“We’ve actually got two hundred and six bones,” said Anne.

“Well, fancy that!” Maureen smiled fiercely.

“Babies have around three hundred bones. They fuse together as they grow,” said Anne.

“It must have been wonderful bringing up a child with your medical expertise,” said Maureen. “I was always bundling them into the car to take them off to the doctor and then feeling like a fool when there was nothing wrong.”

Please don’t be condescending, Mum, thought Ellen.

“Actually, I think it made it worse.” To Ellen’s relief, the smile Anne gave Maureen had only minimal queenliness. “I knew everything that could go wrong. Every temperature meant certain death.”

“Speaking of temperatures,” said Patrick’s father, “well, not temperatures so much, but aches, I’ve had this really strange ache in my—”

“Dad,” said Patrick.

“George refuses to make an appointment to see a doctor,” said Maureen, “but whenever he meets one he starts telling him about his medical problems.”

“I just thought she’d find it interesting,” said George.

“Would you find it interesting if people started talking to you about their electrical problems?” said Maureen.

“I certainly would,” said George. “Blown any fuses lately, Anne?”

“So, anyway, it must have been nice for you, Ellen, growing up with a mother who was a doctor,” said Maureen.

“Mum,” said Patrick.

“What?”

Patrick shrugged and took a bite of his sausage sandwich.

“She was always sort of cranky with me when I got sick,” said Ellen.

“Our mum was exactly the same!” spoke up Patrick’s brother. “The angriest I have ever seen Mum was the time I got knocked out by a cricket ball. I come to, and the first thing I see is Mum, and she’s yelling, ‘Simon! Wake up this minute!’”

“I thought he was dead,” said Maureen.

“So you thought yelling at me would bring me back to life.”

“I understand completely,” said Anne. “The fear makes you furious.”

“You’ll understand when you have your baby, Ellen,” said Maureen.

Ellen, who was actually looking forward to being the very opposite of her own mother, and fondly imagined herself soothing her child’s feverish brow with a gentle cool hand, said, “I’m sure I will.”

“Dad wasn’t mad at me when I broke my arm,” said Jack. “He was mad at Saskia.”

There was an instant strained silence around the table.

“That’s because it was Saskia’s fault,” said Patrick.

“It was an accident,” said Jack. “Actually, you were sort of pushing her.”

“Yes, darling, it was an accident, but what your dad means is that Saskia should not have been here in the middle of the night,” said Maureen.

“How’d you go with the police?” said George to Patrick.

“You told the police about Saskia!” Jack’s head whipped around to look accusingly at his father. “She’s not going to jail, is she?”

“She won’t go to jail,” said Patrick. “But you understand, mate, she can’t break into our house again. The police will just tell her that she can’t come anywhere near us anymore.”

“Right, but I guess she’ll still come and watch me play soccer, though,” said Jack.

Ellen drew in her breath.

“Good Lord,” said George.

“What are you talking about, Jack?” Patrick carefully placed his sausage sandwich back on the plate in front of him.

“She watches all my games,” said Jack.

“I’ve never seen her there,” said Patrick.

“You’ve got bad eyes,” said Jack dismissively. “She stands way off. Near a tree or whatever. She always wears this blue knitted hat, like a pancake.”

“Beret?” murmured Anne.

“Goodness, I think I knitted it for her,” said Maureen.

“If I see her anywhere near you again I’ll have her arrested,” said Patrick.

“You will not!” said Jack.

“I will.”

“If you do, I will never speak to you again.”

“Fine,” said Patrick. “Don’t!”

“Boys.” Maureen held out her hands to each of them helplessly.

Ellen’s phone began to ring.

“I’ll just—excuse me.”

She rushed into the kitchen with the phone. “Mary-Kate?”

“Yes, hi, Ellen. Right, they’re holding offon publication. The journalisthas agreed tohear your side of the storyfirst. And I get the impression she’s readyto dropthe whole thing. Mostjournalistsdo haveintegrity—andthis one ishating the idea that Ian Roman could be using her for somepersonal vendetta. Even if Ian Roman does rule her world.”