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“I’m sorry,” Paige said into her jumper. “That was a lot.”

“It was.”

“I’m still right, though.”

“You’re always right. It’s your worst quality.”

Paige laughed. Reggie, sensing a hug he hadn’t been invited to, heaved himself up and shoved his head between them.

Lauren stayed on the arm of the chair, one hand on Paige’s shoulder and the other in Reggie’s fur, and made herself a promise.

She’d ask Carly once. Plainly. No case. No garden, no lunch breaks, no square footage. She wouldn’t pitch it like the rent depended on it.

And whatever the answer was, she’d let it be Carly’s.

28

Carly

With her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, Carly fumbled for the door handle. If she didn’t get a move on, she’d be late for training, but Samantha was no good at taking hints.

“I can see him living there,” Samantha continued, barely stopping for air. “My only concern is the parking.”

“We’ll manage.”

“True. Decision made, then.”

Carly had just slotted her keys into the ignition. Her hand fell away from them, and she sat back against the seat.

The gym car park was already dark, the security light flicking on and off at a moth only it could see. Her kit bag sat on the passenger seat, boots on top. Ten minutes ago, the biggest decision of her evening had been whether to risk the hamstring in the sprints.

Until now, it had all been theoretical. Brochures. Links. Samantha reading out room sizes in the voice she used for holiday cottages. Decision made was something else.

“Did you give me the price for this one?” The figures had all started to blur.

Samantha tutted. “Yes. But all the costs are comparable if we want him to go somewhere decent. Just like I sent you three quotes from three different estate agents, which all said largely the same thing.”

“Remind me.”

“Carly.”

“Humour me. I’ve had a long day.”

A pause, then the rustle of paper. Samantha had printed it all out, of course. Carly could picture her at the kitchen island in her reading glasses, the brochures in a neat stack beside a cold mug of tea.

“The one with the conservatory. Fifteen minutes from mine, ten from yours. Nursing care, not just residential, because he’s going to need it, and I don’t want to move him twice. Ground-floor room with a garden view. They’ve got a physio in two days a week, and a hairdresser on Fridays. They do a roast every Sunday.” Samantha’s voice caught on roast, so slightly Carly might have imagined it. Then it hardened again. “Sixteen hundred and eighty a week.”

Carly closed her eyes. She knew the number. She’d run it against every line in the accounts a fortnight ago, sitting up in bed with her laptop. She knew what it was in memberships. She knew what it was in months.

“And the house,” she said.

“The agents all said the same. It’ll sell quickly. Good street, garden, near the schools. Families will snap it up.” Samantha paused. “We’d need to clear it first.”

“I know.”

“Fully. The garage too.”

“I know.”