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Cassie wasn’t going to wait around either. She grabbed her bag and stomped across the gravel to greet her grandparents while Helen and Richard still struggled with seat belts and an assortment of maps and sweet wrappers.
    ‘Cassandra!’ exclaimed Daphne, reaching out for her eldest granddaughter and pulling her into her embrace. ‘Look at you, so tall . . . and all that lovely long blond hair, so pretty. Isn’t she pretty, Alfred?’ Daphne took a step back and peered at Cassie until she shifted and lowered her eyes, uncomfortable under such close scrutiny.
    ‘She certainly is,’ agreed Alfred, ‘just like Rapunzel. Hello, Cassie, my girl. How are you?’ He squeezed her tight while Dora bounced up and down beside him, giddy with excitement.
    ‘Daphne, Alfred,’ said Helen, greeting them each at the door, ‘it’s lovely to see you both. Happy Easter.’
    ‘And to you, my dear. How was the journey? Not too much traffic on the roads, I hope?’
    ‘Oh not too bad. We’re here now.’ Helen smiled politely.
    ‘Well we’re pleased to have you all, aren’t we, Alfred?’ Daphne pulled her cardigan a little closer around her shoulders and turned to look for her son. He was staggering towards them, laden under a collection of bags and buckets and spades. ‘Goodness, Richard, dear,’ exclaimed Daphne, ‘leave all of that. There’s plenty of time to unpack. Come in, come in, I’ve made hot cross buns. You must all be gasping for a nice cup of tea.’
    ‘We are,’ agreed Dora, ‘we’re all gasping . Mum and Dad had a huge row about whether to stop. Mum wanted to pull over but Dad said we should just push on!’
    Helen felt her cheeks flush red.
    Richard gave a little cough. ‘It wasn’t a big row, Dora, just a little . . . discussion .’
    It was Daphne’s turn to smile politely. ‘Well, never mind all that, let’s get you inside, shall we? Cassandra, Pandora, follow me.’
    They trooped into the house, Helen hanging back to help Richard with the bags. ‘Why does she insist on calling them that? She knows the girls hate it,’ she hissed under her breath.
    Richard shrugged. ‘It’s what we called them, isn’t it?’
    Helen shrugged. She couldn’t argue with that.
    Helen didn’t need to look around as she walked through the entrance hall towards the drawing room to know that everything would stand exactly as it had on her last visit, and the visit before that. There was the same smell of flowers and polish wafting on the air, the same worn Persian rugs spread across the flagstone floors. In the drawing room, amidst the golden dust particles shimmering in the sunshine, she spied the ancient carriage clock ticking noisily on the mantelpiece, the familiar faded wallpaper and the usual creaking wooden furniture. Clifftops was like that. Nothing ever changed.
    ‘Sit down!’ bustled Daphne. ‘You must be exhausted. Make yourselves comfortable while I sort the tea. I’ll just be a minute.’
    Helen sat herself on one of the chintz sofas, sinking into an eclectic mix of scatter cushions, most of which Helen knew Daphne had made herself. Across the room Cassie slumped into the sunken leather chair, the one nearest the door. Richard ruffled her hair affectionately as he passed by, before seating himself on the sofa opposite Helen. Then Dora launched herself at Richard, who laughed and pulled her onto his lap. With that one simple action Helen instantly saw the growing gulf between her two daughters. Dora, at nine, was still so naive and childlike, while Cassie seemed to be growing sharper, more independent and self-aware by the day.
    It was a creeping change that was stealing slowly over their girl. Cassie’s bedroom door, once insistently open for the reassuring light from the landing, was now more often than not shut tight; and only last weekend a small but forceful handwritten sign had gone up, demanding that they all now knock before entering. Helen knew it was a natural part of growing up, but it