Nikki was a good sport about it, wandering wherever Heather’s vague impulses directed them, but she noticed that her friend spent a lot of time looking at her phone, and any time there was a flicker of signal her fingers would fly across the screen. Giving into her nosier instincts, Heather peeped over Nikki’s shoulder at one point and saw enough of her phone screen to know that she was already engaged in a lively text conversation with Harry the artist. She looked away, smiling. It made her think of Ben Parker and his tousled sandy hair—but of course there was little chance he would reply to her text messages, and she could hardly be surprised at that.

When the light began to seep from the sky, they conceded defeat, heading back to the cottage with sore feet and empty stomachs. Once inside, Nikki began cooking a chili, neatly laying out her ingredients on the side before browning some mince in a pan.

“So,” Heather leaned on the kitchen counter, trying not to look at the darkness beyond the windows. “Harry the artist then. What’s your progress?”

Nikki continued chopping onions. “What do you mean, what’s your progress?”

Heather snorted. “Do me a favor, Nikki. I am an investigative journalist, remember?”

“Is that what you call it?” Nikki shot her a rueful look before sliding the onions into the pan with the edge of her knife. “I dunno, I’m thinking of asking him to do me a commission.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?”

Nikki threw a tea towel at her.

“We’re only here for a few days, aren’t we? But,” she shrugged, and Heather knew she’d won. “We did talk about going out for a drink tomorrow. There’s a place he knows a short drive from here, they do a really good fish pie.” When she met Heather’s eyes, she looked abashed. “I won’t go though, if you want me to stay, of course.”

Heather rolled her eyes at her. “Who am I to stand in the way of true love? And those muscles.” When Nikki opened her mouth to protest, Heather shook her head. “No honestly, go. I’m glad you might actually have some real fun on this little jaunt, rather than just traipsing around in the mud with me all day.”

“It’s just an evening thing, and …” Nikki sighed. “I am worried about you though, Hev. Do you really think you should be alone at all? With everything that’s happened?”

“Oh god, don’t start. I’m fine.” She thought of the dead bird on her mother’s dressing table, the petals like drops of blood leading up the staircase. She forced a smile on her face. “Honestly. It’s doing me good, to be away. Maybe my mum was right about this place. It’s peaceful.”

“If you’re sure.” Nikki went to the cupboard and retrieved a can of chopped tomatoes. “Did we have another bottle of red? It’d go better with the chili than the white.”

“I think I’ve still got one in my case.”