She shot him a dirty look. ‘Not if you follow a recipe. Anyone can follow a recipe. Or at least I thought so. It really bugged me that I couldn’t cook. My sister is brilliant – not that I’m trying to compete with her. We’re so different; we don’t even worry about that sort of thing, but I should at least be competent. And it just so happened that I read an article in a Sunday supplement about Killorgally and I’ve friends near here, so I began to think about coming here and the idea wouldn’t let go. Weird. It just gnawed away at me.’

‘So you took a sabbatical from your job. Because you wanted to be competent.’ He raised a sceptical eyebrow.

‘Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? But I figured if I was going to do it, I was going to do it properly.’ Her thinking being that by doing it properly it was less risky. Less chance of failure. And more of a certainty of being better in the future. She liked to know what the outcome of things would be. She wasn’t one for surprises.

‘There’s a lot to be said for doing things properly.’ His mouth quirked.

‘That’s what I thought. And you’re laughing at me.’

‘When you do things properly, you really go big, don’t you? People come from all over the world to do this cookery course. It’s one of the most intense courses you can do.’

‘I told you, I wanted to do it properly. Leave nothing to chance.’

‘And now?’

She glowered at him. ‘You heard what your mother said. I’m finding it hard. Really hard. Everyone else – well, apart from Izzy – they seem to know what they’re doing whereas I’m a rank beginner.’ She’d made it all sound funny to Aidan and Sorcha, recounting her various disasters, but they knew her, and knew that she was fantastically competent in other areas. It was easy to be self-deprecating in front of them. With a pout she said, ‘I can’t even chop vegetables. I’m always miles behind everyone else. And Herbert has died.’

He stopped, a look of consternation on his face. ‘Oh Jesus, I’m so sorry. He’s your…?’

‘Herbert?’

‘Yes, boss, brother, boyfriend.’ With a stricken expression he added, ‘Father?’

Hannah sniggered and shook her head as laughter bubbled up in her throat. It took her a few seconds before she caught her lip between her teeth and collected herself.

‘My sourdough starter.’

‘Of course it is,’ murmured Conor dryly.

‘Although mine’s more of a non-starter. How could I get that wrong? It’s just flour and water, for goodness’ sake.’

Conor shook his head. ‘Don’t ever say that in front of Eamon or Mam. Where are you keeping it?’

‘In the kitchen.’

‘And what are you feeding it on?’