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land and cash and established one of the country’s largest construction companies. He’d been delighted when Tom had announced his intention to be an architect; Maxwell assumed that it was a roundabout way of learning the family business. The fact that Tom then chose to carve his own way and, since the birth of Chloe, hadn’t worked at all, had been met with thinly disguised disgust. This was the latest reason why Tom chose not to speak to his parents unless it was absolutely necessary.
    Grace’s upbringing could not have been more different. Her parents were wonderfully supportive. It had been no surprise for Tom to learn that Olive had not only baked three times a week for her family, but that Mac, despite being a bigwig in the Metropolitan Police, had been a school governor, making sure he was as fully involved as possible in the girls’ education. Tom knew with certainty that his parents had never known what class he was in, much less the name of any of his tutors.
    Holidays for Grace had been idyllic, epic camping trips to the remote Scottish wilderness. Her mum and dad would share tea from the plastic cup on the thermos flask and she and Alice would argue over the last warm, squashed, cheese and pickle sandwich that languished in the bottom of their dad’s rucksack. Grace smiled at the memory of them bickering and paying no attention to the majesty of their surroundings while her parents tried to snooze hand in hand on a bed of heather. She knew her husband felt a physical twist in his stomach when he compared that with his own family’s summer breaks, where he and Jack would be collected from school by an ever changing nanny/au pair/housekeeper and flown to their house in Barbados. The neighbours there were an eclectic mix of writers, screen stars and minor royalty and his parents worked hard to infiltrate the club, conscious that it was a pretty good outcome for a family of builders from Yorkshire.
    It upset Grace to learn that the feelings Tom associated most with his childhood were nervousness and an anxious tummy, not dissimilar to being obliged to live among strangers. He and his brother were close because they shared their unique upbringing, yet there was also a coolness between them as neither wanted too much reminding of what life used to be like for them. Tom hoped that Jack would be fortunate enough to find the kind of happiness he had with Grace and that he too would build a family that would heal him, in the way that his had.
    Tom never wanted Chloe to feel the way that he had felt, never wanted her to feel she couldn’t be herself, speak her mind or ask for a hug if she needed it at the end of a tricky day. Her life would be very, very different. He would make sure of it.
    ‘Eat your biscuit!’ Chloe demanded, watching as her dad gingerly prodded the rather grey-looking pastry that was full of what looked like lumps of plastic and had a paperclip sticking from the top.
    ‘It looks lovely, Chlo, but I don’t want to spoil my tea, so I might save it and eat it later.’
    Grace sat up straight and turned to her husband. ‘Nonsense! Don’t worry, Tom, your tea isn’t for ages. You can eat all of your cookie up and still have plenty of room for tea later.’
    Chloe nodded in agreement.
    Tom grimaced at his wife and narrowed his eyes as he spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Well, okay, thank you for that. But I insist that we share it, half each. Half for Mummy and half for me, that’s fair, isn’t it, Chloe?’
    ‘No! It’s all for you, Daddy!’ Chloe shouted and pushed the biscuit towards her dad.
    ‘You heard the girl.’ Grace smiled and sank back against the cushions and folded her arms across her chest.
    Tom rolled his eyes at his wife as he tentatively took a small bite from the edge of the cookie. Grace heard the crunch of grit between his teeth.
    ‘Oh, Chloe, this is delicious!’ he enthused.
    ‘Eat it all up!’ Chloe again pushed the plate towards her dad’s face.
    ‘Yes, Daddy,