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“For the kids,” Susan says, her shoulders rising and falling. “I didn’t want them to have to pick a side, and despite his faults he loved them, and they loved him. It makes me sad, that he’s not in their lives so much anymore—and that’s what I was trying to avoid. I wanted to keep us all together, for as long as possible, and if that meant I had to turn a blind eye every now and then, then so be it.” She sighs. “I don’t think I’ll ever be sure if it was the right thing to do. No matter how hard we try, I don’t think any parent can ever fully bring a child up without scathing them, just a little.” She sounds so sad when she says that.

“I’m sorry,” Mel says quietly. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

“Nonsense. You’re welcome to ask me anything—you know that. And you’re part of the family, Mel. It absolutely is your business.”

Part of the family. Once, she’d really believed that—had imagined Finn’s family as her own. She glances at Susan. She’s wearing makeup today, not for the first time this holiday—a foundation that looks a fraction too orange under the harsh supermarket lighting.

“Anyway,” Susan says. “How are your parents?”

“They’re good—they’re in Zanzibar at the moment.”

“So exotic.”

Mel laughs. “It is indeed.”

“They must be so proud of you, everything you’ve accomplished.”

Mel remembers her mum’s announcement this morning. You inspired me. “They are,” she says. But a part of her worries—what happens if she stops being successful? Will they be disappointed? She won’t be much of an inspiration if her business fails, will she? And all her mum’s time and effort, encouraging Mel to go after her dreams, will be for nothing. Her stomach twists—maybe she should have stayed at the cottage, sent Finn to buy food instead.

Susan is watching her shrewdly. “I’m sure they’d be proud of you whatever you did, though,” she says, a little gently.

Mel isn’t so sure, but, before she can think of an appropriate response, they turn the corner to find Freya in full-on meltdown mode, standing in the middle of the aisle with her little arms crossed as Kristen pulls a hand through her red hair, looking a little like she might cry herself.

“Freya, I told you we were coming to the supermarket,” Kristen says, and Mel can hear the fight for patience.

Freya stamps her foot and refuses to look at her mother.

Kristen glances over to Susan and Mel. There are dark circles under her eyes that Mel hadn’t noticed yesterday. She shakes her head in exasperation. “I told her she should stay at home with Mark, but she insisted.”

Mel heads over to Freya. “Hey, Freya.” The little girl looks up at Mel suspiciously. “Do you know all the supermarket games?”

“What games?” Still that suspicious voice. She’s going to be one hell of a teenager. Mel almost wishes she could be around to see it.

“Wellll.” Mel draws out the word. “How about the alphabet game?”

Mel explains the basic rules of the game, introduced to her by Priya, and Freya immediately perks up, following Mel as she runs to the apples to tick off the A. Mel hopes that distracting Freya will give Kristen a bit of a break, and she manages to sneak in the items on her own list as they go, though they get a bit stuck on foods beginning with X and Z, and Freya has no idea what “quinoa” is when Mel suggests it for Q.

When they meet Susan and Kristen halfway around, Susan winks at Freya. “Don’t forget you and me are in charge of the drinks tonight. We need to think about what concoctions we’re going to brew.”

Mel has a sudden thought and looks over at Kristen. “Ah…Do the meals tonight need to be child friendly?”

“No, don’t worry. She’ll be in bed by the time we eat. Susan and I have got a make-your-own-pizza kit for her, and sprinkles for ice cream.”

“Vanilla?” Freya pipes up hopefully.

“Only if you’re good,” says Kristen firmly, but she seems a touch more relaxed and not so much like she’s going to pull her hair out, so Mel takes that as a win.

Hattie is waiting for them all by the car when they get out of the supermarket. “I definitely get bonus points for being the quickest,” she announces as they all bundle in.

—

When they pull up outside the cottages, there is a sleek black car next to Finn’s rental, with a man in a suit helping a tall, dark, and attractive man unload luggage from the boot. Hattie lets out an excited squeal and bails out of the car before it’s come fully to a stop.

Dylan turns, catches Hattie, and swings her around in the air—a proper film-star moment, so perfect that Mel wonders if Dylan has rehearsed it.

“Who’s that?” Freya asks in her suspicious tone.

“That’s Uncle Dylan,” Kristen says, helping Freya to unstrap her car seat. “You remember Uncle Dylan?” Freya stares at Dylan through the window in a noncommittal way, and Mel feels oddly relieved that she’s not the only one subject to this kind of assessment.