I swipe the ashes away with a flat palm and sit cross-legged in the gravel. I feel dull, leaden.

I asked Charlie at breakfast this morning why he came here. He shrugged, went nonverbal, as he does sometimes. I didn’t press, not with every other tension brewing in the house, but maybe I should have, because the only answer I can think of now is the one Jo gave me over tea an hour ago.

Charlie came here to keep us on the island.

A chill starts to ripple up my arms, down my back. The wind blows—not an omen, the wind is always blowing on Lute—but it’s enough to make me turn and leave this pseudo-sacred spot without looking back. “Me time” is over.

The kids are up when I get home, running circles around the downstairs spaces while Sally looks on. I wave and set down my bag, swallowing the last bit of a mint I had ready.

“Where’s Hugh?” I ask, glancing around. Sally isn’t meant to mind the children. It’s not that I don’t trust her with them, just that she has enough to do around here.

“Upstairs,” Sally says. Her voice is light enough to worry me. “I wanted to ask you about the menu for this week. Kitchen’s a bit sparse.”

“No, yeah, we’re meant to be away, aren’t we?” I say. “Oh God, I’m sorry. Don’t worry about us! Take a few days’ holiday if you like? We can fend for ourselves for once.”

Sally looks stricken. Like I’ve fired her.

“Just for a few days,” I say again.

Charlie plows into my leg and hangs on, grinning up at me. I pat his head. Max joins us. I pat his head too.

“The thing of it is, I think I’d rather keep busy, if it’s all the same?” Sally’s cheeks have turned very red. “Keep my mind off things.”

She clamps her lips shut, her eyes darting upstairs. She must sense that Hugh doesn’t talk about it and doesn’t want to cross that line, but I can see in the tension in the corners of her lips that it’s on her mind and has been for some time.

She believes in the Day.

“No, of course. Whatever you’d prefer,” I say brightly. “I mean, the kids will be grateful not to have to eat my cooking, to be honest.”

“You’re cooking?” Charlie says, aghast. He lets go of my leg and backs away. “Noooooo!”

I shrug broadly. We’re a regular comedy routine around here.

Sally winks, her color returning to normal. “I’ll get to it, then. Avery’ll be over shortly to see to the little ones, and I can bury my head in the larder and see what we can put together.”