The plan was for her to start shadowing some of Jacqueline’s decision-making until she left officially for her as yet unplanned break. This was her first meeting. There were more lined up, some involving ‘idea showering’ the outreach project, and one about a Christmas Bake Off competition. As far as Tara could tell, her appointment had gone down well with the rest of the team. Hero left a bottle of Midsummer Gin on her desk; Tara had asked Hero if she wouldn’t mind swapping it for a crystal necklace.

As for her own professional development, Tara had booked herself on a Blended Families course, Management Skills and also an Intuition foundation. Covering all the bases.

‘Now, will I see you for the Lunch and Learn at one? Bryan’s going to be talking to us about the importance of making lists and sticking to them.’

Tara paused on her way to the door, surprised. ‘That sounds … almost useful.’

‘I know!’ said Jacqueline. ‘Doesn’t it?’

Sunshine was streaming through the stained-glass window of heritage apples outside Jacqueline’s office, throwing bright pools of Egremont Russets and Cox’s Orange Pippins on to the carpet. Someone’s mint tea was brewing in the kitchen. The colour and the smells lifted Tara’s spirits. Everything seemed lighter since the floods had subsided. Her workload, her body, her heart.

Life’s good, she thought, smiling at nothing. Life is good.

‘Where did you find this?’

Diane looked over the top of the wooden box Tara had put into her hands.

Tara curled her legs underneath her on Diane’s sofa in the flat on the high street, overlooking the shop her mum had once filled with jade vases and handmade curtains.

‘It was in the cellar. Toby and I had to move everything out when it flooded and we found about ten boxes we assumed were junk.’ Tara watched Diane’s face as she lifted the lid and started sorting through the contents. ‘This was in the last box. I’d never have found it otherwise. We’d probably have chucked everything without knowing.’

Tara knew roughly what was inside, although she hadn’t looked further, once she’d recognized Diane’s handwriting on the envelopes.

Diane’s green eyes filled with tears, spilling fatly over her lashes. Carefully she lifted a stack of cards in red, blue, yellow envelopes, tied with a ribbon. A book of poetry. A snowglobe. Little mementoes of happiness.

She pressed her fist against her nose, overcome.

‘We thought Mum had thrown out our childhood stuff,’ Tara went on, ‘but it was there, stacked in boxes. She didn’t want to look at it. But she didn’t want to throw it away, either.’

The silence between them expanded, swelling with questions.