“They’re doing a great job. No, in this hot weather they’ll have their shirts off, and that’s the closest to action a woman of my age gets. I don’t want to miss it.”

Connie laughed. “You do know you’re not allowed to say that kind of thing anymore?”

“I can say what I like in my own home. And speaking of action, Milly probably met him through one of those dating apps. I’ve been reading about those. I wondered if I might try it myself. I’ll ask Zoe to take a good photograph of me. I can pass for seventy-five on a good day with the light behind me.”

“Why do you need a photograph, Nanna Peg?” Zoe appeared in the doorway yawning, her chestnut curls tangled from sleep and her eyes still bleary.

At that moment she looked so much like Milly at the same age that Connie felt her breath catch. It was the freckles and the blue eyes and also the ready smile. Milly had always been a smiler. She’d been gentle and good-natured and an all-around daddy’s girl. Until her daddy had walked out. After that, part of her had closed off, and for a while Connie had been afraid that her daughter might be too wary of love to ever allow herself to fall for anyone, but then she’d met Richard.

Connie had liked Richard. Connie had loved Richard. Not anymore.

Every time she thought about him she wanted to break something.

“Nanna Peg doesn’t need a photograph. She was joking.” She opened the fridge. “What can I make you for breakfast, sweetheart? Eggs? Fruit and yogurt? I’ve squeezed you a fresh juice.”

“Whatever happened to heaped bowls of sugary cereal or a big fat bacon sandwich?” Peggy took a sip of coffee. “The problem with your generation is that all the joy has been stripped out of life. No additives, no alcohol, no red meat—the list is endless, and you take it to extremes. A little of everything was my motto. And here I am at eighty-two in a hiking group.”

“I’m thirteen,” Zoe reminded her with a grin. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

“Ignore Nanna Peg,” Connie advised. “Most people grow out of their rebellious phase in their teens, but your great-grandmother is getting worse with age. Your mum messaged to say she’s on her way.”

“Yes, she messaged me too.” Zoe dropped her schoolbag by the door and sat down at the table. “Eggs would be great, thanks, Gramma.”

“At least make them into pancakes,” Nanna Peg said and Connie sighed as she put the glass of orange juice in front of Zoe.

“Pancakes or omelet?”

Zoe wrestled with herself. “I love pancakes, but I don’t want to get fat.”