‘All in good time,’ he murmured, laughing.

‘However, I would like to remind you,’ she said huskily into his ear, ‘that oranges are not the only fruit, George.’

She was tipsy enough that she might have begun making lewd remarks about bananas, but thankfully they started kissing at that moment. Slowly at first, both still smiling at one another, but quickly becoming more passionate and intense. Now this was what she needed . . .

‘Daddy!’ came a howl just then, and their door was flung open to reveal Seren rushing towards them. ‘Daddy, I had a bad dream!’

You had to laugh, Em thought, rolling discreetly away. Didn’t you?

Summer of Yes group chat

Izzie – tequila and shoplifting session in Falmouth today . . . banned from art gallery and called a delinquent. How many points??!

Lily – you rebel, Iz. Ten points!

Miko – don’t think we haven’t forgotten about your selfie with the older man, though. Get on with it!!

Tej – she’s chicken. Bwark! Bwark!

Ruby – give her a chance, she’s been on the tequila all day. (But yeah, crack on, Iz. We’re waiting!)

Izzie – GUYS. Doing my best here.

Lily – don’t let us down.

Chapter Eight

The wind was picking up strands of Maggie’s overgrown bob and throwing them into her eyes and mouth as she strode around the headland. It was Sunday, the following day, and she and Amelia had come out to explore Pendennis Castle, Henry VIII’s squat stone fortress up on the cliff. The sky was overcast and sullen, and thin spitty needles of rain fell periodically, as if a storm was swelling above them, ready to let go at a given signal. Maggie’s spirits remained resolutely sunny, however. She had abandoned geological trips for the day and tried history instead, luring Amelia out with promises of the gift shop and a café lunch. To her great surprise, her daughter had agreed to the excursion without too much of a fuss.

‘According to the leaflet, there was a five-month siege here in 1646, during the English Civil War,’ she said to Amelia, gazing back at the circular fort and mentally conjuring up the shouts and fervour, the smell of gunpowder, the boom and thud of a battering ram. Maybe this could be their new shared hobby, she thought, with a sudden flash of optimism. Cornwall was steeped in history – they could immerse themselves this summer. She might even go the whole hog and join English Heritage on the way out today. ‘Five months! Can you imagine?’

‘Mmm,’ said Amelia, her face blank.

Was she even listening? Maggie thought, deflating again.