We sit down and dangle our legs over the sheer drop. ‘Let’s take a picture,’ I say. ‘We’ll send it back to the kids and to Lauren and Chelsea.’

‘They won’t believe that we’ve done it.’

‘They will,’ I assure him. ‘They will.’

‘No going back for us,’ Greg says. He spreads his arms expansively and laughs out loud. ‘The world is our oyster!’

Now bathed in sunshine, we sit and marvel at Machu Picchu some more.

‘We could go back to Cromer,’ my husband continues.

‘No!’

‘For the odd weekend. Just to remind us.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘But, you know what? Next time, Annie, I’d strip off my clothes and run into that sea with you.’

‘Would you?’

Greg grins. ‘I would.’

‘I might just hold you to that, Mr Ashton,’ I say.

And, next time, I promise to myself that I’ll wear some more of that sexy underwear and let those seagulls get an eyeful of my breasts.

~ The End ~

Read on for a preview of Carole Matthew's:

Read on for a preview of Carole Matthew’s:

The Cake Shop in the Garden

Chapter One

Chapter One

I sit on the edge of my mum’s bed and take a deep breath. ‘I’ve booked you in for a week’s respite care,’ I tell her.

She stares at me, aghast. ‘But I don’t want you to have any respite from me.’

‘Things are quite difficult at the moment, Mum. You know how it is. The year’s marching on and I need some time to get the café ready for the season.’

She folds her arms across her chest, unconvinced.

I’ve already brought her a cup of tea and a slice of the new coffee cake that I’m trying out, in the hope of softening her up, but my dear mother has turned up her nose at them.

‘I’m not leaving here.’ Mum’s chin juts defiantly. ‘No way, lady.’

For someone who is supposed to be an invalid, my mother has the strongest constitution and will of anyone I’ve ever met. I knew even as I was making the booking that it was overly optimistic. Even a cake fresh from the oven won’t warm my mother’s heart.

‘There are loads of things I need to do, Mum. I could just do with a couple of days. That’s all.’ A couple of days without her banging on the ceiling every five minutes, wanting this or that or something and nothing. She has a walking stick by the bed especially for the purpose.