Thomas liked her from the off, and although he’d never admitted to anyone the emotional pain he’d been under since his accident, closing himself off completely when he returned from the States, the family knew Maddie had pulled him back from the edge.

‘Do you like him?’ Maddie whispered to Amelia now, as they made their way towards Honeysuckle Cottage. It was one of two cottages that backed onto part of the forest that formed a semi-circle around a large expanse of grass.

‘Who?’

‘Jackson.’ She kept darting him looks over her shoulder, a cigarette dangling from her free hand.

‘I barely know him.’ It was true. Amelia had seen him on the odd occasion she visited, and her observations were conflicted. On the one hand, he seemed fond of her mother, but he was also vain and cocksure of himself. She certainly wasn’t his biggest fan. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter whether I like him or not, Maddie,’ she said. ‘As long as my mum’s happy, I’m happy.’

‘He’s great-looking though, don’t you think?’ She almost swooned as they continued across the plush green grass.

Amelia glanced over her shoulder, watching as he headed into the cottage, his arm around her mum’s shoulders, Lark a few steps behind. As though sensing her stare, he bolted her a look, and smiled. Yes, he was good-looking – too good-looking – tall, slender yet muscular. She narrowed her eyes. Didn’t return his smile. What had attracted him to her mother? As lovely as her mum was, Jackson, with his charms and good looks, could have had his pick of women of his own age.

‘Not my type,’ Amelia said, looking forward once more. He wasn’t. She preferred her men a little rough around the edges – and Jackson was a priceless jewel that positively gleamed. She shrugged, unhappy discussing his appearance – or him at all for that matter. Apart from anything else, her dad was only a few steps in front of them pushing Thomas in his wheelchair.

‘So, how are things with you, Maddie?’ It was an attempt to change the subject.

‘Great.’ Maddie released Amelia’s arm, and ran towards the cottage, her floral dress flapping her calves.

Amelia followed and, once they were congregated around the red-painted door of the cottage where they would spend the next few days, she suddenly felt unnerved. The area was too quiet – just the rustle of trees swaying in a light breeze, the caw of a crow. She turned, taking in the ruins, shuddering at the sight of the crumbling walls, the broken statues. Why had her mum picked here and not Spain or Greece? But then she wasn’t fit enough to travel, and Amelia quickly chastised herself for being selfish.