And yet the thought of staying in this modern flat, all sleek surfaces and high-tech gadgets, where she knew no one, and where Christmas couldn’t happen, made her want to scream. She couldn’t spend the holidays here. She needed to get away, and so did Zac, find some kind of fresh start, even if it was only a temporary one.

But where? Where could they go that was both comforting and different, preferably without phone signal or even Wi-Fi, somewhere they could actually get to know one another and leave all this aggro behind? Assuming they even wanted to get to know one another, which Laurel wasn’t sure she did, never mind Zac.

But, still. A second chance, even if just for a little while. A break, of sorts, for them both, while they waited out Abby’s treatment. A silver lining.

The answer, when it came, seemed so obvious Laurel was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before. Of course, she hadn’t been there since she’d been eight years old, so it was understandable that it didn’t spring immediately to mind. But it was lovely and welcoming and there was definitely no phone signal.

Orkney.

The word alone conjured up all sorts of images—midnight walks on the beach, as the sun finally began to set, and rainy afternoons by the fire playing Ludo and Chinese chequers. The salty sting of the wind, the air so fresh she could feel it fill her lungs, cleaning her from the inside out. Biking down narrow lanes, drippy ice cream cones by the harbour side, gulls wheeling and crying overhead, playing cards at the tiny table in Bayview Cottage’s window...magic. All of it magic.

Before she could think about all the pros and the inevitable, undoubted cons, Laurel grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts, pressing the number for her Great-Aunt Eilidh, praying that she’d pick up, and more importantly, that she’d welcome two very unexpected guests for Christmas at this late date.

“Laurel? How lovely for you to ring.” Her great-aunt’s voice was as warm and welcoming as ever, filled with genuine delight at hearing from her. It had been too long, Laurel knew. It always was.

When had she last seen her aunt? Two or three years ago, at least, when Eilidh had come for a weekend in York, and before that it had probably been even longer.

“I’m afraid I’m ringing to ask you a favour,” Laurel said in apology. “A rather desperate one.”

“If I can help, I will.”

Her aunt’s certain tone made Laurel’s eyes sting. Aunt Eilidh had been lovely when she’d been younger, always welcoming her and Abby to her tiny stone cottage on the windswept island of Orkney off the north coast of Scotland.

Laurel’s mum Isla used to bring them there in the summer, two long, lazy, wonderful weeks of doing nothing much and loving every minute. Her mother had loved it too; Laurel remembered her saying they were her favourite two weeks of the year.