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Thom stepped back as she began to board. His voice dropped as the door stayed open a second longer than it should have.

‘But Chloe…’

Tears flickered in Chloe’s eyes, but she forced them down. ‘There are no buts…’

And then she was gone, the doors closing behind her as the bus pulled away into the snow.

Thom stood still as it moved off, wheels cutting through the slush, until it was nothing more than a shape disappearing down the road. Something in his chest tightened, not anger, not even shock, just a slow, sinking acceptance he hadn’t been ready for. He had thought there was still space to be chosen again.

There clearly wasn’t.

FORTY-FOUR

Kelly appeared downstairs just after eight a.m. looking like death in a mohair jumper. Her blonde hair was piled into a messy knot on top of her head, dark glasses on despite the grey Cornish morning outside. She paused halfway into the kitchen as though even the smell of bacon might finish her off completely.

Rita glanced up from the twins’ highchairs where she was cutting Noa’s toast into soldiers while Nathan enthusiastically shoved pieces of boiled egg into his mouth with his fingers.

‘Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.’

Kelly groaned. ‘Too loud.’

‘You’re forty-eight, not eighteen,’ Rita replied. ‘You should know by now that Sauvignon Blanc, rum and strong Cornish cider are not a medically advised combination.’

‘It wasn’t rum.’

‘Vodka then.’

Kelly winced. ‘Worse. Tequila.’

‘Christ.’ Rita rooted around in the messy drawer and handed some paracetamol over to her hungover friend.

Nathan squealed happily as Kelly collapsed dramatically onto one of the chairs. ‘Kel-Kel-Kel-Kel.’

‘Bless you, Nathan, but quieter please… Sorry, Reet, I can’t even manage one of your legendary fry-ups,’ she muttered. ‘That’s how near death I am.’

‘Coffee first?’ Rita smiled.

‘Train first,’ Kelly corrected miserably. ‘I need to get home. I booked a seat on the nine-fifteen. If I have to stand all the way back, I may well scream my indignation all the way to Paddington.’

‘If all else fails you could always consider an acting role, I guess,’ Rita replied dryly, sliding a mug of steaming coffee towards her anyway.

Kelly accepted it with both hands like a pilgrim receiving holy water.

Through the window Rita spotted Chloe pushing Alfie up the drive, coat wrapped tightly around herself against the cold sea wind. Rita was grateful that Stan had gritted the drive so at least it made it a little easier for her. Even from a distance Chloe looked wounded.

Beside her, Kelly followed Rita’s gaze while digging through her handbag for her phone.

‘Oh God,’ Kelly muttered softly. ‘She looks proper sad. Pretty though. Aren’t you supposed to pick ugly nannies?’

‘Be nice.’ Rita flicked the kettle on again.

Kelly looked faintly offended. ‘I’m always nice.’

A few minutes later the back door opened.

‘Morning,’ Chloe called automatically, though there was no brightness in it.

‘Morning,’ Rita replied carefully. ‘This is my mate Kelly, who can barely talk for a hangover, which is at times a blessing.’