When she got back from London, she vowed. She would make it beautiful, for the time she had left of June, when it never got dark and the air softened, and she was so looking forward to it, although she reminded herself to bring superstrength midge spray back with her. They must sell something in London for people going to the tropics. Something must kill those pesky mites.

She couldn’t help it, though. Imagining. What it would be like if he walked through the door and grabbed her and . . .

She was being ridiculous, she realized. But also it was good: good that she was thinking about a chap again. It had been so very long since her mind hadn’t felt closed, confused, frightened all the time. Even her ability to daydream, to fantasize, seemed to have been turned off by the anxiety; the luxury of even believing in a brighter future for herself. That had been lost; now it seemed to have been found. Even if, of course, it was nonsense.

Still. They were meeting. After the trial. Better than that: he had promised to take her out to lunch and she had (and she felt guilty about it) not even told her mum or Kim-Ange, even though she knew they were both longing to see her. This was bad, but it was going to be such an awful day, and only the thought of Cormac was keeping her hanging on.

Her Skype bonged, and she groaned.

ANITA WAS FULLY dressed and had two suitcases by the side of her kitchen table.

“Is this a bad time?” said Lissa, not wanting to point out that Anita had called her.

“Pfft,” said Anita, glancing nervously at a pile of paperwork on the kitchen table. “Apparently I’m passport monitor and it’s making me very nervous.”

“Perhaps try some deep breathing exercises,” said Lissa, then immediately felt bad. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

But Anita was looking around anxiously. “Where is that sodding cat?” she was saying to herself.

Just at that exact moment, a cat shot past the screen, so fast it was just a blur, pursued by two rampaging children.

“Not on the road! Not on the road!”

Lissa found herself thinking about Nina and Zoe, baby John pottering about the farmyard with his dad and Zoe’s little tribe cavorting about the fields. Anita obviously lived in a nice terrace house in South London; it was probably worth more than the entire village up here. But as the children sped around the nice, expensive kitchen, it couldn’t help crossing Lissa’s mind if it was worth it. How much it must cost to pay the mortgage; how hard it must be to raise children you couldn’t let out on their own.

“Honestly, I can—”

“No, you have these sessions paid for and I need to complete them before you go.” She looked crestfallen. “Sorry they’ve been a little rushed . . .”