She stretched her arms above her head, and wandered to the shop counter, where she opened up the till and glanced at the notes Isabella had made yesterday. All seemed to have gone well, and as she looked at the booking log for massages, Isabella had even booked in a couple more for her for next week. That side of the business seemed to be taking off nicely. In fact, for once, all of the stars seemed to be in alignment.

Shortly before lunchtime, her mobile pinged again. Glancing at the screen, her heart lurched as she saw it was another message from Rachel, of which she could only see the first half of until she swiped it. She didn’t waste any time. Heart beating faster, she digested the news that Harry had woken up late, and under the weather, and so Rachel had zipped him up to the Bristol Royal Children’s Hospital.

So far, as a combination of Rachel’s brilliant management of Harry’s condition and an enormous stroke of serendipity, Harry had avoided an extended hospital stay. He had to go to the Children’s Hospital every eight weeks for a check-up, to test his lung function and for a battery of blood tests, as well as a general health check, and he’d passed his last one with flying colours. However, he’d been a little under the weather recently since he’d picked up a cold from nursery and unfortunately that didn’t seem to be shifting. Rachel, Holly knew, would have been careful to ensure Harry didn’t over exert himself at Willowfest, but that, combined with the remnants of the cold, had seemingly affected him more than Rachel had anticipated. While children without CF would be poorly but recover quickly, the antibiotics hadn’t quite worked soon enough this time, and the hospital wanted to keep him in for observation.

Do you need anything?

Holly texted her sister but was relieved when the reply came back in a minute or two. Rachel had enough clothes and supplies for a few days, and was apologetic she was going to miss her lunchtime shifts at ComIncense on Monday and Tuesday. Texting her a reassuring reply, Holly tried not to worry. Harry was so little, and cystic fibrosis was such an unforgiving condition; the unfairness of it all took her own breath away when things like this happened. But thinking like that would get her nowhere, and there was still today’s morning trade, and the lunchtime picnic with Charlie, to think about.

‘Good morning,’ she said as a customer, obviously an incomer for Willowfest, came through the front door of the shop. He looked knackered, a bit grubby, as if he’d slept out under the stars instead of actually in his tent in the field behind the Priory last night, but curiously at peace.

‘Blessed be,’ he ventured shyly.