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Sennen rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now.

Upstairs, one of the twins started crying through the baby monitor. Then the second joined in indignantly two seconds later.

Rita pushed her chair back with a sigh. ‘Here we go.’

‘I’ll help you,’ Sennen said immediately, standing too.

‘I’d love that.’

Rita felt herself welling again. ‘Love doesn’t stop just because life changes shape, darling.’

‘I know.’ Sennen smiled softly at her. ‘You taught us that. People can drive each other mad and still love each other fiercely.’

Rita wiped a tear from her eye.

‘God, I’m emotional today,’ she laughed shakily.

‘You’re not pregnant again, are you?’

‘If I am, Kelly’s getting summoned immediately and being handed the shotgun!’

Sennen looped an arm through hers as they headed upstairs together, both laughing.

FIFTY-SIX

Thom drove the Golf far too carefully for someone who insisted he was fine. Every bump through his ribs was a reminder that he wasn’t and really shouldn’t be doing this. The cold December light sat low over the road as he left Seahaven Bay Farm behind, winding out towards Puffin Hill. He slowed instinctively as he reached the bend, forever to be known as the bend where he had his accident.

His jaw tightened, hands gripping the wheel a fraction too hard before he forced himself to keep moving.

The mobile home park came into view just beyond the rise, a scattering of tired-looking static caravans softened by string lights and frost. He tentatively approached Summer Dreams, though it looked anything but in the winter grey.

He parked, cut the engine, and sat for a moment like he wasn’t entirely sure he had the right to be there. Then he got out anyway.

The cold hit him immediately, sharp against his face and ribs. A curtain shifted in a nearby window, which then flew open.

‘She’s out,’ a voice called.

Thom turned. ‘Any idea where she might have gone?’

The woman squinted at him. ‘And who’s asking?’ The thick Cornish accent cut through the air.

‘Um… a friend.’

‘Duck Pond Park, I expect,’ she said, already losing interest. ‘Little Alfie loves it down there. She takes him most weekends.’

The window slammed shut before Thom had a chance to thank her.

The duck pond park sat tucked just beyond the edge of Puffin Hill.

A wide, still pond formed the centrepiece, broken only by the lazy drift of a few ducks and the ripple of wind skimming across the surface. Around it, a ring of wooden benches curved gently along the path.

Beyond that, a large play area spread out over the grass, a mix of brightly coloured swings and climbing frames.

And then he saw her.

Her hair loose and natural, a thick cream scarf tied tightly against her black puffer jacket, leggings tucked into flat brown boots. She was crouched at the edge of the pond, laughing softly as Alfie threw tiny handfuls of bread into the water with intense concentration.

‘Not all in one go,’ she said, gently brushing crumbs from his fingers. ‘The ducks will get fat as cats.’