Fiona Gibson 3 Book Bundle. Fiona Gibson

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      ‘If any conferences come up,’ she adds, ‘we can always rearrange.’

      At least he’s able to laugh at himself, she notes as she sees him out, with Buddy barking in protest, seemingly grief-stricken at his departure. Still, that’s probably an essential quality for a clown.

      ‘I felt sorry for Harvey Chuckles,’ Mia murmurs as she and Kerry head upstairs. ‘Audrey-Jane was mean to him and I don’t want to be her friend.’

      ‘Oh, honey.’ Tucking her in and perching on the edge of her bed, Kerry gently brushes a crinkle of her daughter’s hair from her face. ‘I thought you liked Audrey-Jane. Didn’t you say she was being much friendlier at school?’

      ‘Yeah, sometimes. Dunno.’

      ‘Well, maybe we could ask her around for a playdate soon, or anyone else you’d like to play with – you don’t have to be friendly to someone who’s not very nice to you …’

      Mia scowls, her bottom lip wobbling. ‘She doesn’t like me. Nobody does.’

      ‘Darling, they do,’ Kerry murmurs, aware of Mia’s beating heart as she holds her close. ‘You’re a lovely girl and you’ve got to know lots of people already …’

      ‘I don’t have a best friend.’ She sniffs loudly.

      ‘I know, but these things happen naturally when you get to know people properly. We’ll start planning your birthday party soon, okay? And you can invite as many people as you like.’

      Kerry kisses her cheek, then clicks off the bedside light, aware of Mia’s large, dark eyes fixed intently upon her. ‘No one’ll come,’ she announces.

      ‘Of course they will. Why wouldn’t they? We’ll make it really fun and I’ll do you a really special cake …’

      ‘Will Daddy come?’

      ‘Er …’ Kerry clamps her back teeth together. ‘I’m sure he will.’

      ‘Can Harvey Chuckles come too?’

      ‘Oh, darling, we hardly know him and it probably costs an awful lot to hire a clown …’

      As Mia falls silent, Kerry gently strokes her hair, wishing she had the power to make everything all right.

      ‘Tabitha threw a sweet,’ she murmurs sleepily, ‘and it hit him on the head.’

      ‘Poor Harvey. That wasn’t very kind, was it? Come on now, love. I’ve got a song to finish tonight.’

      Mia nods, but before Kerry has even reached her bedroom door, she calls out, ‘Mummy?’

      ‘Yes, Mia?’

      ‘Can I have my birthday cake from a shop please?’

      ‘Oh.’ Kerry frowns. Following the Egyptian theme which has gripped Mia’s imagination, she has started making tentative plans for a sarcophagus cake covered in gold paste icing and studded with jewels. ‘Why d’you want a shop cake, sweetheart?’

      ‘’Cause everyone else has one.’

      ‘I’m sure they don’t.’

      ‘Yeah, they do! I’ve seen pictures.’

      Pictures of birthday cakes – because she wasn’t actually invited to see them for real. ‘Um … whose cake did you see a picture of?’

      ‘Cassandra’s.’

      ‘Just Cassandra’s?’

      ‘Yeah.’ We’re not talking ‘everyone’, then. ‘Will you cuddle me?’ Mia whispers.

      ‘Of course I will.’ Forgetting work, Kerry slips into the single bed, surrounded by a soft toy menagerie and holding her daughter close until she is breathing deeply, fast asleep.

      Chapter Twenty-Nine

      It’s true, Harvey does know about dogs. Since he was a little boy, he’s instinctively known how to develop a mutual trust and understanding, leading to a sense of security: crucial for any animal if he’s to be a fine companion and not make a spectacle of himself, like Kerry said Buddy does from time to time. He seemed like a real character, though. As he climbs the steep hill with the huge, posh houses which leads up to the golf course, Harvey reflects how much he misses owning a dog of his own. The walks, the games and companionship – all those rituals are good for a person. However, it would appear that those days are over. Harvey has let his spare room to his friend Ethan, who leaves a scattering of worn socks, pants and other small, unsavoury items in his wake. A pain, yes, and Harvey would far rather have the place to himself. But unfortunately, dogs don’t pay a share of the rent.

      ‘How did your lesson go?’ Ethan asks, peering up from the sofa in the small, neat living room that’s lined with Harvey’s books, CDs and the vinyl he can’t quite manage to part with. Ethan’s wiry red hair is unkempt, his mouth full of last night’s home-made chicken curry which is visible as he speaks. On the coffee table, a gummy-looking bottle of mango chutney rests on Harvey’s treasured copy of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest – original seventies edition – and a small bowl is perched on Ethan’s lap.

      ‘It wasn’t a lesson,’ Harvey says. ‘Just a chat to see how we got on.’ He senses Ethan studying him with small, dark eyes – the eyes of a creature who rarely ventures out into daylight – as he hangs up his jacket on the hook by the door.

      ‘What was she like?’ Ethan asks.

      ‘Nice, y’know. Friendly. Interesting.’ Harvey shrugs, registering his flatmate’s naan bread draped over the arm of the sofa like an oily antimacassar. He could ignore this or snatch it away, inspecting the inevitable greasy patch beneath it and give his flatmate a lecture about his slovenly ways.

      ‘Old, was she?’ Ethan enquires.

      ‘No, not old. About our age, hard to tell really …’

      ‘Not one of those craggy old teachers who slams the piano lid on your fingers when you play a wrong note?’

      ‘Jesus,’ Harvey sniggers, deciding to let the naan thing go. ‘Did you have a teacher like that?’

      ‘Yeah, old battle-axe. Stank of violets and death. Still have the scars here.’ Ethan waggles his chubby hand, which Harvey knows to be scar-less because they’ve been friends since they were eighteen and started at drama college together. ‘So why are you having these lessons again?’ he enquires. ‘I thought you were skint.’

      ‘Just fancied it,’ Harvey says lightly.

      ‘’S’pose it could come in handy with the act,’ Ethan teases him. ‘A little musical interlude, make a change from the old one-man-band …’

      ‘Yeah, maybe.’

      Ethan wipes a blob of mustard-coloured sauce from his chin. ‘Was she fit, then?’

      ‘Who?’

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