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‘Exactly.’ Rita reached for a glass. ‘Did Thom pop by earlier?’

A look of brief confusion flickered across Chloe’s face. ‘Er… no. Was he supposed to?’

‘He said he’d bring some chicken feed down. I’m nearly out and Jago’s got loads up there.’

Before Chloe could answer, the growl of a quadbike sounded from the courtyard outside.

‘Talk of the devil,’ Chloe muttered, the words apparently escaping before she could stop them. A cry rang out from the lounge. ‘Oops. One of the little munchkins must be waking from their nap.’

‘I’m impressed they all went down together.’ Rita ran the tap until the water was freezing cold and filled her glass.

‘A very rare occurrence.’ Chloe smiled tightly. She was searching for clean sippy cups in the cupboard when the kitchen door swung open.

‘Alright, ladies?’

Thom walked in carrying a heavy sack of chicken feed over one shoulder, his auburn hair windswept from the quad bike. There was mud dried along one work boot and the familiar smell of chilly air, hay and farmyard trailing in with him. He dropped the sack beside the pantry with an easy strength that still caught Rita off guard sometimes; one minute he was the lanky teenager forever raiding her fridge, the next he looked every inch the man running half the estate beside Jago. He gave Chloe a sneaky wink.

‘Oh, Thom, not in here,’ Rita groaned. ‘Can you stick it out in the main storeroom please?’

‘Alright, Mrs Moody.’

Rita rolled her eyes. ‘Sorry, love. Busy day. The new retreat guests have arrived, and you know very well where it usually lives.’

Chloe hovered by the microwave. Another sharp cry came from the lounge.

Rita gave her a look. Chloe quickly shoved the now milk-filled cups inside the microwave and pressed the button.

Thom glanced at the young woman instinctively. ‘You alright, Mary?’

‘I’m good, thanks.’ The answer came too quickly, a whisper of a smile tugging at her lips.

Rita screwed up her forehead. ‘Mary?’

‘Mary Poppins.’ Thom grinned.

For half a second they simply looked at each other. Something silent passed between them before Chloe dropped her gaze first.

The microwave hummed loudly in the quiet kitchen.

Thom rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Jago said to tell you there’s another bag up at his place if you need it, Mum.’

‘Brilliant.’ Rita barely heard herself answer.

Ping.

Chloe snatched the cups out, testing one against her wrist. ‘Right. Before the screaming gets worse.’ She disappeared towards the lounge.

Rita waited until she heard her voice soften into baby-talk before she slowly turned back to her son.

‘Thomas.’

He froze immediately. ‘Oh God.’

‘Don’t “oh God” me.’ She folded her arms. ‘Is there something going on with you and Chloe?’

He blinked. ‘What? No.’

‘You’re a terrible liar.’