Hope you’re settling in OK and your mum wasn’t too shocked to find you’d moved in when she got home from work. Thanks for your offer. I think I need to do it on my own but the idea of a pint and a listening ear is appealing. You should work in sales! Can I think about it overnight and text you tomorrow? Xx

✉︎ To Sam

Of course. This has to be what works for you. The offer’s there and you only need to accept it if it’s what you want/need. This is about you, not me. Mum was stunned. She cried buckets. She lectured me for leaving London but admitted she was relieved to have me home. Phew! Sleep well and may or may not see you tomorrow xx

I woke up on Sunday morning and lay still for several minutes, smiling as I listened to the birds tweeting outside. No traffic. No shouting. No sirens. Just peace.

‘This is it,’ I whispered to myself. ‘Home for good.’

If I’d had any doubts, Logan’s reaction last night had eclipsed them. He squealed with excitement and clung onto me tightly. It felt good to be needed.

Thank goodness the shop was closed on Sundays, although it wouldn’t be for much longer. Mum had tried opening seven days a week throughout the year but had found that the Sunday trade outside of the summer and Christmas seasons wasn’t enough to justify the salaries and overheads. The first Christmas Sunday opening was in two weeks’ time so the shop would soon be very full-on.

I couldn’t stay in bed all day listening to the birds. I needed to unpack and work out what my new routine would look like. I’d also have a trip to the beach to fit in if Sam decided he wanted some company.

After a quick shower, I got dressed then went downstairs to make bacon butties as a special treat.

There was no sign of Mum or Logan when breakfast was ready so I loaded everything onto a tray and took it up to Mum’s bedroom. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

‘I thought I could smell bacon,’ she said, inhaling.

Logan appeared from his room, grabbed a butty, smothered it in ketchup, and started munching on it.

‘Plate?’ I questioned, watching a shower of crumbs drop onto the carpet.

He shrugged. ‘Thought I’d save you the washing up.’

‘By creating more vacuuming?’ I raised an eyebrow at him.

‘I’ll do it. I like vacuuming.’

I looked at Mum doubtfully, but she nodded. ‘He really does. He gets Henry the hoover out without me even asking, don’t you Logan?’

Logan nodded. ‘What are we doing today, Jemma-bear? Can we go bowling again?’

I grimaced. ‘I’m not sure I can cope with being thrashed by a ten-year-old again.’

He giggled. ‘You were rubbish.’