“Are you safe to drive?” Flora retrieved the keys and handed them to her.

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” Clare scanned the kitchen.

“You seem a little—distracted. What are you looking for?”

“Something in case she bleeds in the car. My mind is blank. You’re right, I’m distracted.” Clare pressed her fingers to her forehead and breathed. “This is called overreacting, isn’t it?”

“I think it’s called love. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

“Thank you, but no. My mother hates a fuss, which is how I know it must be bad.” Clare was hunting around the kitchen and Flora grabbed a fresh towel from the counter.

“Will this do?”

“Perfect. You’re a lifesaver.” Clare grabbed it and headed for the door, a slightly wild look in her eyes. “You’ll be on your own. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll finish off that planting we started yesterday.”

Clare was halfway to the car when Flora spotted her phone on the table.

She sprinted after her.

“You’re going to need this.” She dropped the phone into Clare’s pocket. “Call if I can do anything. Drive carefully.”

The door slammed. The engine revved and small stones flew as Clare accelerated along the drive to the Gatehouse where her mother lived.

Flora stared after her for a moment, and then walked back into the house.

Silence enveloped her.

The day, or at least the next few hours, stretched ahead but for the first time in as long as she could remember she was alone without feeling lonely. It seemed that the house retained the warmth even after the people had left. Or maybe it was Jack. Even when she wasn’t with him, she thought of him.

She cleared the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, swept the surfaces and floor until they gleamed. She allowed herself a brief moment to luxuriate in the pretense that this place was hers. Deciding that she’d earned herself another coffee, she made herself a cappuccino from Todd’s terrifyingly sophisticated machine and took it into the garden.

The lawn still wore the evidence of the day before. Water pistols lay abandoned next to Chase’s favorite ball and a half-inflated kayak.

Izzy was still on the sunlounger.

Flora approached cautiously. “Izzy?”

Those shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t turn. “What? What do you want?” Both words and tone crossed the line into rude but Flora ignored that because as well as anger and resentment, she heard a distinct wobble in that voice.

Izzy was crying. And she was trying to hide it.

Flora had done the same many times. She’d cried into a pillow, cried in the shower, locked herself in the bathroom.

She reached out to touch the girl’s shoulder and then pulled her hand back.

“Izzy—”