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Sennen pushed the kitchen door open to complete chaos.

Food everywhere. Highchairs rattling as the twins banged away, faces smeared, voices loud and relentless. Something unidentifiable clung to the wall.

Rita stood in the middle of it, pale, hair scraped back badly, sunglasses on.

‘Good morning,’ Sennen asked carefully. ‘Are you alright?’ Rita didn’t reply. ‘Mother? Have you got a hangover?’

Nathan flung something. It hit the floor with a wet splat. Noa followed suit, delighted. ‘Senny, Senny!’

Rita closed her eyes. ‘I’m this close,’ she said, pinching the air, ‘to putting them in front of Ms. Rachel. Their favourite. One day won’t hurt.’

She pushed the glasses back onto the top of her head.

‘I think survival mode is allowed occasionally,’ Sennen laughed. ‘I’d offer to take them but I’m working today.’

‘No, it’s fine. They will nap at eleven as will I; poor Jago doesn’t have that luxury.’

‘Poor Jago will be kipping somewhere quiet of his own accord I expect with no need for an alarm, so don’t feel too sorry for him.’ Sennen laughed. ‘So, you went to the fireworks I take it; how did the kids like it?’

‘Chloe babysat.’

‘Oh. Bless Chloe.’ Sennen yawned. ‘I drove past her walking along the coast road in the dark last night. Said she couldn’t get a taxi. I took her home. She didn’t even mention she’d been here.’

Rita looked up, frowning. ‘What? She said she’d book a taxi.’

‘As had half of Seahaven Bay, Mum; it was the fireworks, remember.’ Rita shook her head, guilt flickering. Sennen got herself a squash. ‘Where is she today, anyway?’

‘I gave her a day off.’ Rita removed her sunglasses and took a huge glug of water.

‘Well. This is your penance, then.’ Sennen smiled.

Rita snorted weakly, then squinted at her, ‘Where had you been, then? You love the fireworks.’

Sennen hesitated. ‘Oh, er. I bumped into an old school friend at Pippin Quay. I was sussing out a restaurant for a hen party there, and well… it was good to catch up.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Rita watched her. ‘Who was that then?’

‘Um… Becca Harris. Remember her? Buck teeth, pigtails at primary?’

Rita blinked, then laughed. ‘Yes! God, her mother had an affair with the football coach.’

Sennen smiled, but her hands fidgeted unnecessarily.

Rita turned back to the twins, who were now enthusiastically smearing porridge across their trays. ‘Right. Fine. Ms. Rachel it is. I’ll set them up in the big lounge. Don’t judge me.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ Sennen grinned. ‘Anyway, I just popped in to see how you’re doing. I’m off to Exeter later, meeting a bride to firm up her wedding in Dartmouth.’

‘Do you want to swap places?’ Rita groaned, heading towards Noa with the wet wipes. He banged his tray in defiance. Noa shrieked in solidarity.

‘No thanks, Mum. I’m good where I am.’

TWENTY-THREE

Jilly Cooper was the sort of woman who probably wouldn’t even cry at her own mother’s funeral, so when she called Rita, sobbing uncontrollably and barely able to get her words out, Rita told Jago she had to go to her immediately. Rita clocked the CLOSED sign on the front of the Pilates studio, then ran up the outside stairs to the flat and rang the doorbell.

‘It’s open!’ Jilly shouted.

Rita pushed the door and found her on the cream leather sofa, in sleep shorts and a vest, make-up free, legs folded in. Her usual armour gone.