Her father would spot her from the kitchen window and know by the set of her shoulders that something bad had happened. He’d hurry out with the baster still in his hands, and she’d dissolve into tears in his arms. Or her mother would be in the front garden, weeding, and she’d straighten up quickly, hand flying to her mouth in shock. “Lizzie,” she’d cry. “For God’s sake, what’s the matter?” Instead, as Lizzie pulled up outside the familiar two-story mock Tudor house, she found herself altogether unheralded. Nobody was watching for her. Nobody had sensed that this was her hour of need. The lace curtains in the kitchen window didn’t even twitch. Was it possible they’d forgotten she was coming? “I’m hungry,” Ellie grumbled as Lizzie unbuckled car seats. “Me too,” groaned Alex. “I’m hungwy like I’m eatin’ somethin’ right now!” They ran ahead of Lizzie and fell against the back door, wrestling each other for the privilege of opening it. Lizzie followed them through the deserted kitchen, which at least smelled of roasting meat, into the lounge where she found her mum and dad placidly watching TV.
