‘It’s going to be, like, so tragically boring and tedious, Mum. Can’t I just stay here?’ Do I have to? seemed to be Molly’s default setting these days, especially if it involved doing anything as a family. Harriet could feel her daughter pulling away all the time, a kite on a string impatient to fly free, leaving her tedious mother far behind, alone on the ground, staring anxiously upwards into the blue. Glancing over from where she was knelt in front of the TV, in the middle of setting up all her favourite trashy TV programmes to record while they were away on holiday, Harriet gave her daughter a stern look. ‘Don’t be like that! It’s the beach! The seaside! And that lovely, gorgeous house.’ She thought again of the fact that this might be their last holiday together and vowed to dig her heels in. No way was she going to lose this argument. Forget it, lady. Molly remained unmoved by her mother’s words. ‘I don’t mind being on my own,’ she said, inspecting her nails (silver and jewel-adorned today), then stretched her arms languidly above her head and gave a dramatic sigh.
