Her teenage years had been full of angst and frustration that life seemed to be moving at what she saw as an infuriatingly slow pace. She had been in such a hurry to be an adult, and once she was, the world suddenly changed and she underwent a transformation, realising that her energy could be put to better use by keeping her emotions firmly under control. That was what was meant by being a grown-up, the ability to think logically and objectively. In contrast, Willow had always seemed to want to remain a child and view life accordingly.

Hearing Ellis now replying to something Tom had just asked him, Martha was once again drawn to the mellifluous sound of his voice, accompanied now by a burst of birdsong from the nearby lilac tree. She wondered how much of that persuasive voice of his he’d used to sweet-talk his way into Mum’s life? And now into Willow’s by the looks of things. Perhaps, she thought, stealing a look in Tom’s direction, him too.

But smooth voice or not, how could Mum think it was right to replace Dad so soon? It was an insult to all those years of marriage. How could that be swept away so easily? Did they count for nothing? And why the hell did Mum have to look so gooey-eyed whenever she looked at Ellis? When had she ever looked like that before?

She certainly wasn’t behaving like the woman Martha knew as Mum. This was a stranger sitting with them. An imposter who kept fiddling with her hair and smiling for no real reason. If Dad were here now, he probably wouldn’t even recognise her.

Tearing off another piece of flatbread and dipping it into the dish of hummus, and hearing a lull in the conversation, Martha decided it was time she spoke. ‘So, Ellis,’ she began, ‘tell us how you and Mum first met.’ There were dozens of questions she wanted to ask Ellis, but this was as good a one as any to start with in getting to the bottom of just who he was and exactly where he had sprung from.

‘I told you before how we met,’ Naomi said with a small unnecessary laugh. ‘It was aeons ago when we were students at university.’

‘Yes, but how did you meet? And were you just friends? Or,’ she added with heavy emphasis, ‘more than friends?’

Chapter Eighteen

‘All I’m saying is that somebody has to get to the bottom of things,’ said Martha. ‘I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something that just doesn’t add up. It’s not so much what Mum and Ellis say as what they don’t say.’

They were on their way back to Tom and Martha’s, where Willow would then catch a train into London. It had felt like a long and tiring day for her and, too weary to respond to her sister, she stared out of the car window in the early evening light at the cow parsley that spilled over the narrow road that was taking them away from Tilsham. As a child, and if Mum was driving – she always drove at a slower speed than Dad – Willow would lean as far as she could from the car window to touch the hedgerow. She had loved the sensation of her hand brushing against the frothy flower heads. Although one day she was stung by a bee. Martha had told her how stupid she’d been and told her off for effectively killing the bee by making it sting her and then causing its death. Her sister, of course, never did anything as thoughtless or careless. That was Willow’s speciality. She slid a hand down to her stomach to where proof of her latest act of folly resided.