‘Mum, how did World War Two start?’

Amelia turned from the washing up. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart.’

‘You always say that.’ Harriet let out a sigh and muttered under her breath, ‘Dad would’ve known.’

Amelia looked away. Four months had passed, but still she wasn’t used to Jack being past tense. Her friends had assured her that this was normal, that it’d take time to accept he was gone. But how could they say what was normal? They’d not watched depression consume their husbands; they’d not come home to a final note on the dining room table; they’d not broached suicide with a nine year old who still played with dolls.

Drying her hands on the tea towel, Amelia sat at the kitchen table opposite her daughter whose attention was fixed on a model aircraft. Since finding Jack’s collection of Airfix sets in the loft, Harriet had spent the summer holidays perfecting the art of their creation. Looking at her now, Amelia felt a pang of guilt for not paying her enough attention recently, so wrapped up she’d been in her own loss.

‘What’re you making?’ she asked.

‘A Messerschmitt.’

‘Can I help?’

Harriet fixed her eyes on her as if weighing up her model-making abilities.

‘You could put these on.’ She handed her a sheet of stickers. ‘But I need to finish this bit first.’

Furrowing her brow, Harriet pressed the plastic parts from their mould with trembling hands. Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth just as her father’s once had.

‘Hari,’ Amelia said. ‘I know things have been hard around here recently. I haven’t been a very good mum to you in the last few months. And I’m sorry.’

Harriet looked up quickly. ‘Okay.’

‘Okay,’ Amelia echoed. She glanced at the calendar on the fridge. ‘There’s still two weeks of the summer holiday left. How about we do a bike ride tomorrow?’

Harriet thought for a moment, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. ‘Can we go to the military museum instead? Dad said he’d take me, but-,’

She trailed off and the incomplete sentence hung between them.

‘Of course,’ Amelia said.

‘I think Dad would like that.’

‘I think he would too.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m getting there, sweetheart.’

‘Me too.’

‘Good.’ Amelia forced a smile and swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Now, what do you want me to do with these stickers?’