Her tutoring job both depressed and distressed her, and, but for the excellent money, she'd give it up in a heartbeat: go back to proper teaching. This obviously distressed me because I knew why she was in London, but she never complained. Never spoke of it. I just knew. Knew that she found spoon-feeding an uber-rich child to do something they weren't intellectually capable of continuing later, borderline immoral. It sat more than uncomfortably with her. Of course, this was completely different. But I knew which way she'd lean, if I actually asked for her advice. Mum didn't watch like my father had, but that didn't mean she didn't have an eye. A view.

I walked on, deep in my thoughts, neither texting Ted nor ringing my mother.

Once at the cottage I lay down on my bed for a bit. I stared up at the ceiling, feeling slightly traumatized by the day's events. But then, I am prone to exaggerate. Notwithstanding the hyperbole, however, as I've got older, I've noticed that I'm less able to surf the hummocks; to withstand those emotional shockwaves through my body; less able to shrug off the bumps and pitfalls of life. These days, I need to recuperate quietly, lick my wounds. But perhaps that's just me.

After a bit, I heard Celia clattering away downstairs, back from the beach. At length she came up. She put her head around the door. Saw my face.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Just having a little lie-down."

She regarded me a moment. Knew this famous face of mine. And I knew she thought — Hugo.

"OK. Well, I'm here if you need me. Edward and I are going out for supper later."

I made myself smile. "Have fun."

“Thanks." She smiled back and shut the door.

After a while I got up. I had a bath and changed and tried to make myself look pretty. I wished, not that Ted wasn't coming, but that he'd come yesterday. Before I'd taken this body blow. When I was still in the mood for fresh starts and new relationships and a bit of scent behind the ears and painting my toenails. Wished that I already had this evening under my belt. Perhaps was even vaguely going out with him. Instead of which, I had it all to come. Not the best way to approach a hot date.

Funnily enough, though, once the make-up was on, plus a clean dress, I felt better. I squared my shoulders in the mirror. Tucked my straight dark hair behind my ears. Come on, Flora. Candles on the table. Plump those cushions. A kiss on the sofa. You can do this. Down I went.

Celia had gone by now and the place was clean and tidy, which was nice of her. No cushion-plumping necessary. All the lunch debris in the garden had been cleared away, too, which was a relief. I didn't want to look at it. Shut up, Mum.