‘Sounds good,’ he said, getting to his feet, ‘let me know when you have anything more specific. Oh, and keep me posted on the nest-building project going on out there,’ he added, throwing a look at the window.

Damn! She needed to get her act together. And fast. No more gazing out of windows and being distracted by thoughts of wishing she was pregnant.

And no more thinking about Mum and what the hell was going on with her. With any luck this imagining to be in love was just that, a trick Mum’s mind was playing on her. It was probably a form of delayed shock at Dad dying so unexpectedly; a need to fill the void his death had created in her life. So maybe this was something they just needed to humour her over, let the moment run its course and then Mum would realise the mistake she had made. Or the mistake she was in danger of making. After all, she was an attractive proposition; a widow who lived in a beautiful house and who had, thanks to Dad’s diligence, a sizeable financial portfolio at her disposal. But if this Ellis character was an opportunist on the lookout for a wealthy widow, he’d better think again!

All would be revealed at the weekend when they would finally meet him. Willow had at last agreed that she could spare the time to meet this coming Sunday, but had thrown a spanner in the works by saying the weather was going to be really warm and wouldn’t it be so much more fun to be at Anchor House, and with the beach to enjoy, instead of being at Tom and Martha’s, as she had originally planned? Rick had apparently been keen to spend the day at Mum’s, too. Tom had reminded Martha of the olive branch she was supposed to be extending, so had gone along with it.

Which, to put it mildly, had thoroughly annoyed her. It still did, and with a fresh wave of annoyance flaring within in her, she forced herself to relax. Fretting, as she knew from everything she read about trying to conceive, was massively counterproductive. Deep breaths, she told herself, slowly in, slowly out. On the out breath, she stood up and went over to the window. The pigeon was busy with a mouthful of twigs, adding them to the growing nest, making it perfect for when it would contain an egg, or maybe two eggs.

Watching the conscientious bird bobbing its head up and down as it went about the business of setting up home, Martha suddenly felt tearful. The thought of that bird preparing so carefully for its offspring, and in such a precarious spot, filled her with wretchedness.

Added to the physical ache of her unhappiness was the certain knowledge that her apparent inability to become a mother was turning her into a crabby bitch. Every thought in her head was a negative thought. Worse than that, she was consumed with a need to criticise and condemn those around her. She couldn’t think well of anyone. Least of all herself. It was as if she hated the world right now.