The rain had started again around them, fine rain, but Tara didn’t really notice.

She didn’t want to break the hug, because once it was broken, they’d have to talk about it. She didn’t want to hear David say he’d felt something different than the sparkling, tingling electricity she was feeling. Because, Tara realized now, there was no way she would be getting on a plane with Phil Shawcross. He was from a different life.

She turned her head and rested her lips against the softness of David’s neck again – not a kiss, not quite a kiss – and she heard his sharp intake of breath, then a slow sigh over her hair. Something new shimmered inside Tara, like the solar fairy lights twinkling in the midnight garden.

It rained, and they stayed tight in each other’s arms.

Tara sensed David’s arms release first and as they did, she felt as cold and bereft as a city Labrador scrambling out of a cold beck.

I need him to hug me again, she thought. I …

‘David,’ she started to say, but got no further as David leaned in and kissed her properly, on the lips.

The kitchen window was brightly lit with many candles when they pulled up outside Wye Villa.

Most of Lloyd’s mud had transferred itself to the back seat of Tara’s Mini, and the Labrador who emerged on to the slick pavement was already more yellow than the miserable chocolate creature they’d found.

Tara unclipped his lead. Lloyd leaped out, dashed straight up the garden path and scraped at the front door to be let in.

The door was flung open. Molly stood there in her unicorn pyjamas, and opened up her arms. ‘Lloyd!’

With a woof of pure joy, Lloyd nearly knocked her over in his frenzy of licking and wagging and barking.

‘See?’ David nudged Tara as they followed him in. ‘Lloyd’s forgotten already. And if he hasn’t, he’s already forgiven her.’

‘Well, his limp seems to be cured anyway.’

‘Lucky for you. I was going to make you carry him this time.’

Keith was standing behind Molly, and the candlelight made his hair darker. For a surreal moment, Tara thought the years had rolled away to the dad she remembered, the dad she’d dreamed of seeing standing on the steps with his arms open to hug her. Then he moved, and his hair was silvery again, his chin silvery too, his handsome eyes baggy with weariness. But she could see love in his eyes. Love, and relief to see the same reflected in hers.

We all change, Tara thought. We have to look back at things we don’t want to, because it’s the only way to see how we’ve changed.

‘Come on in, my darling,’ said Keith, holding out his arms. ‘Let’s get you a cup of tea.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN