‘Please, Mum, can’t we just go home? Finish the holiday early?’ Then something seemed to cross her mind, because in the next moment she blurted out, ‘Oh, but then Fraser—’ before snapping her mouth shut again.

Em felt very, very tired all of a sudden. Very tired and confused. Right now the prospect of going home early wasn’t even such a bad idea. It had been a mistake asking George on holiday with them, she thought dully. They didn’t know each other well enough. Their kids hadn’t particularly gelled. And now here was Izzie, prostrate with guilt and wretchedness over some terrible crush she’d developed, some joking around that had gone horribly wrong. Izzie hadn’t wanted to share the family holiday from the start – it had been Em who’d pushed everyone into it. What a disaster. Maybe it was time to pull the plug. Enact a mercy killing.

‘Look,’ she said weakly, ‘how about if I ask George to go home early? Seren’s due to go back tomorrow anyway, maybe I should just—’

But at that moment there came a gentle knock on Izzie’s bedroom door and then George himself put his head around it. He looked strained and apologetic, and Em’s lungs seized with terror that he might have been listening to their conversation.

It turned out that something even worse had happened, though. ‘Er . . . Charlotte’s here,’ he said.

Chapter Twenty-Five

As the rain tipped down, Maggie sought shelter in the café, queuing up for a cup of tea and flapjack, then managing to bag the last free table. She had come to Trebah, a beautiful botanical garden, as recommended by Paul in the guidebook he’d lent her. After the encounter with the pebble artist on the beach, she had returned to the car and flicked through the pages, trying to decide what to do next. It was only then that she really took note of all the messages Paul had left for her amidst the entries.

This is lovely – highly recommended, he’d written on one page. Watch out – expensive car park, he’d warned elsewhere. Fabulous at the end of the day when the crowds have all gone, read another pencilled addition. In his own quiet way, Paul had been telling her for years that he cared about her, she realized. Just look how he’d annotated his own book for her. You’ll love this place. This is right up your street! Bit overrated, she read on other pages. Even the act of studying his handwritten notes made her feel warm inside.