However, our concern for your mental health was, and still is, of paramount importance and we hope the therapy Jonathan helped organise was supportive in helping you move on from the past . . .

I had never had any therapy and the last few lines of the email revealed that my parents had never had a bad word to say about Jonathan either. The moments they had been alone together were not spent with them berating him as he had led me to believe, but with him telling them that I wasn’t well, that I needed help, that it was best all round if they kept their distance.

Almost from the very moment I had confided in Jonathan about my affair with David and how it had fractured my relationship with my parents he had been cunningly crafting the tool to deliver the blow to split us apart for good. It had been his intention all along to set up an irrevocable rift so he could have me to himself and carve me into the shape he wanted. Clearly, he was the one who needed therapy, not me.

I was astounded by his behaviour and embarrassed that I had never seen through it. Thank goodness Beamish had sent that card and now I had the chance to set things right. However, the next few days stretched out in front of me and the demands of them were quite breath-taking – I needed to focus on composing a measured response to Jonathan, not break Beamish’s heart, and help my darling Dolly adapt to a thoroughly different life to the one she had been living for as long as she could remember. And of course, there was also the Wish List to complete.

Before leaving the cottage for church, I had sent a brief text to the number Mum had included at the bottom of her email, explaining some of this. I kept the tone light, mentioning Dolly’s retirement and how I wanted to talk to her and Dad face to face to properly untangle the wires which had been crossed. I promised we would see each other soon and that I would email as soon as I had a few more things settled in my head.

I was in for a tumultuous few days.

*

‘Isn’t this beautiful?’

I gave a little shudder as Beamish’s breath tickled the back of my neck.

‘Yes,’ I agreed, my voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Yes, it is.’