‘Gigi’s messaged me to check when we’re coming to stay.’ Rory’s brow furrowed. ‘She said she hadn’t heard from you.’
Cassie held back a sigh. Her mother had never been big on family details, and with an assistant to run the mundane aspects of her life, Lois was free to do more or less as she pleased. She glanced at her phone and saw the message she hadn’t yet opened. Her mother always began her days with an early morning swim and preferred communicating first thing.
After her father had died and they’d discovered he’d left them nothing but debts, defaulting on the mortgage her mother didn’t know he’d taken out on their London house, Lois had bolted to Italy to stay with friends while Cassie finished university. Six months later, a book about her mother’s life with a notoriously difficult and unfaithful husband was announced to the world with great fanfare. When it was published the following year, it topped the bestseller lists for months in multiple territories and had never been out of print. Lois had gone on to become a notable biographer of historical figures and remained on the Amalfi Coast, where she lived with a much younger DJ, and spent half of each summer in Ibizan clubs.
Cassie had had her share of tabloid attention when she was young. She’d loathed it and hated the scorn from other children at school, which made her desperate to protect her own family from any lingering gossip. She’d long recognised she had come a poor third to her parents’ marriage and their individual problems. Counselling had helped her accept and understand, as well as cope. She and Lois had a cordial relationship now, and they had lunch whenever her mother came to London to meet with her agent and publishers. Lois would send the children all her best love along with a gift, then hop on the next flight home without seeing them. She was a bright star who glittered from afar in their world, and Cassie knew she would never change.
‘I’ll message Gigi and remind her about the date. So what time are you meeting Jacob? Don’t forget we’re having lunch at the pub tomorrow, and Granny and Grandpa are coming too.’
‘I won’t. Jacob said they’re bringing the sheep down from the fell today.’ Rory’s look was earnest, and Cassie’s heart clenched with love for her beautiful boy. ‘Please can I go with them? Raf said there’ll be plenty of adults there, and Jacob’s done it loads of times. He knows the fells and what to do.’
‘I think that sounds great.’ She bit back her concern. She’d never been a risk-taker like Ewan, and together they’d found a way to allow their children to experiment. It was much harder, doing this alone. ‘Just stay with Jacob, and make sure your phone is fully charged before you go. And let me know when you’re back at the farm.’
‘I will. Thanks, Mum.’ Rory leapt up, already on his way to the door, and she called after him.
‘Take water. And sunscreen, and…’
‘Yeah, got it. Will do.’ The door closed behind him, and she leant back to enjoy her coffee for a few minutes more, setting aside her anxiety as she read Isla’s message. Almost everyone she loved was in Hartfell now, and her family’s life in London seemed very far away from fells and sheep gathers and long lunches at the pub.
Chapter Eleven
When Cassie ventured downstairs she found Raf in the kitchen cooking bacon on the Aga, and she watched for a moment, unseen.
‘I hope I can expect this level of service every morning. That smells amazing.’
‘Morning.’ They shared a smile as she bent to greet Flynn in his basket and the wolfhound’s tail thumped. ‘I thought it might be nice. Gordon always cooked on our first day.’
‘That’s a lovely thought. Thank you for remembering.’ A tradition they’d all loved, waking up in Galloway and coming down to a hearty breakfast.
‘How did you sleep?’
‘Really well, thanks. The bed was very comfortable.’ She went to the fridge and found the orange juice she’d brought, holding up the bottle as he flipped eggs. ‘Would you like one?’
‘Please. Isla and Rory have already eaten and disappeared with their friends.’
‘So I heard. No wonder it’s quiet in here.’ Flynn came over and she gave him a cuddle, smiling at his inquisitive head level with the table. ‘Sorry, you have to go back to bed when we eat,’ she told him gently. ‘It’s not fair to torment you with food under your nose.’ Raf had mentioned he was teaching Flynn to stay in his bed with a treat at mealtimes, a habit she had to follow too.
‘So is this how you like to spend your Saturday mornings now? You’ll be reading the papers next and buying slippers. At least it’s something new for your Instagram, domesticated Raf.’ She caught the sardonic glance he threw her. ‘Your followers must be lapping it up.’
‘Not anymore, they’re not.’ He pointed to a fresh sourdough loaf on the table, crumbs scattered around it. ‘Help yourself. I got some of that butter you like from the shop as well.’
‘You really are going to ruin me,’ she said helplessly, picking up a breadknife anyway. ‘So why won’t your followers like this?’
‘Because I’ve deleted my Instagram.’
‘Seriously?’ Cassie paused slicing as her gaze snapped up. She tried hard not to look at Raf’s Insta now, and the algorithm had obliged by showing her fewer posts. ‘I thought you liked it?’
‘I do. I did.’ He shrugged as he slid bacon and eggs onto plates already half full of mushrooms, tomatoes and baked beans. ‘I decided I was done. It takes up too much bandwidth, I guess. It was fun when I was in the band, but now that’s over I want a more private life.’
‘Who are you and what have you done with Raf Jones?’ She wondered if he’d always had those laughter lines around his mouth, or had she simply never noticed them before? And had he always looked at her that way? As though he could read her mind and understood her every thought before she’d even had it.
He brought their food over and she sliced more sourdough, dropping some onto his plate. He’d already set out brown sauce and ketchup, and she squirted a blob of brown onto her own, pulling a face when he added brown sauce and ketchup to his bacon butty, a habit he’d taught her children.
He explained more about the local youth group he planned to meet as they ate, which gathered weekly in the village hall. Afterwards, once Cassie had finished unpacking and exploring the garden with Flynn, she was ready for a stroll into the village. She offered to fetch shopping so she could cook this evening, and Raf accepted on the understanding that it wasn’t her job to feed everyone every day, suggesting all four of them shared the kitchen duties.
He stayed behind to work, keeping up with his online distilling course. She changed her boots and found Flynn’s lead, actually a harness that went over his head and fastened around his chest. Once she was satisfied he was comfortable, they set off. It really was like walking with a small pony at her side, and although he was interested in his surroundings, he didn’t pull or try to tow her along. He attracted a few curious glances from people they met, and one or two stopped to admire him. He was very polite and well behaved, and she made sure to tell him so.
The church and school next door were in sight as she approached the village, dappled sunlight glinting between a row of chestnut trees. In places, cow parsley was still flowering gamely, flattened flower heads drifting in a light breeze. Occasionally Flynn raised his head in sight of something, and she clutched the lead a bit tighter as he stilled. But each time he relaxed again and settled at her side.
