‘Very well then.’ She folded the last sandwich into its wrapper. ‘But you’ll be no wiser. I don’t know his name. His mates called him Benno. It happened at a teenage party. We were drinking. The adults had left us downstairs quite early in the night, and some of the boys had sneaked in some grog. I got squiffy and giggly, and Benno was there.’ She flushed. ‘It sounds cheap and horrible – and stupid. It was. A quick fumble in the dark with a boy I hadn’t met before. I was sixteen and curious, and everybody said you couldn’t fall pregnant the first time. I never saw him again after that night, or learnt his surname, or even what Benno stood for – Benjamin, Benedict. Maybe his surname was Bennet . . . It wasn’t a meaningful or romantic act, just a stupid one. That’s why I didn’t want you to know.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Penitently Tilly took her mother’s hand. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. You were just a kid – it’s not fair to have your whole life ruined for one little mistake.’

‘Who said anything about ruin?’ Elaine demanded. ‘I got you, didn’t I? Do you really think that I would wish that undone? Shame on you, Matilda! You have always been reason enough for everything.’

‘Oh, Mum.’ Touched, she hugged the older woman to her. ‘I love you too. And I should know better than to try and judge,’ she said thinking of Gerry. ‘Nobody outside a marriage really understands it.’

‘Well, you’re right about that,’ Elaine said. ‘And quite a few spouses don’t understand it, or each other either. Now, do you think we need cake as well? And what about a thermos?’

‘Definitely cake, but Connor will boil the billy. I’ll clean up,’ she added with a glance at the clock. ‘Then he ought to be just about here.’

Chapter Twenty-nine

Connor was on time and, having loaded up, they took the road to the coast, leaving the main route to the station to turn onto a single vehicle track heading due north.

‘Where are you going?’ Elaine clung, aghast, to the hand bar in front of her as the vehicle shook over the potholes.

‘It’s the most direct way,’ Tilly explained before Connor could defend his driving. ‘If we went round by the station, that’s an extra two hours’ travel. This is a slower road, but shorter.’

‘Well, I’m glad you called it a road. It’s like something out of a Mexican Western,’ her mother said forthrightly. ‘Why doesn’t your company mend it, or make a new one?’