‘Becky Ellis.’

‘Hello, Becky. This is Justin Holmes.’

Becky immediately sat up. The farm manager. From Ramsbourne.

‘Hi,’ she said, questioningly.

‘That story, the one you came to see me about.’

‘Yes?’

‘Have you written it yet?’

Becky didn’t answer.

‘If you have, delete it.’

Becky was silent for a moment. ‘Is that you telling me or asking me?’

‘Warning you. I have a bad feeling about it.’

‘Well, you see, the thing is, I think it’s a story that needs to be told.’

‘You’re wrong. Don’t do it.’ He paused. ‘There are people who won’t like it.’

‘By people, you mean you?’

‘No . . .’

‘Who?’

‘Look, despite the fact you came onto my property and ambushed me, I like you. So please listen to me. It’s really not a good idea. And do not mention this call to anyone.’

‘How do these people know I’m writing this story? I’ve only spoken to you.’

There was a silence down the phone.

‘Who have you told?’ demanded Becky.

Silence.

‘Can I speak to them?’

‘You need to stop. Now.’

Becky twisted in her seat. She thought of Grace and Arnie and Abby and found herself getting riled. ‘Who are you to tell me what or what not to write?’ she said. ‘There is a story here that neither you nor anyone else has the right to stop.’

‘But there is no story. Nothing that anyone hasn’t heard already. Speculated about before. You have no proof.’

Becky smiled to herself. Adam.

‘Well, that’s where I think you’re wrong,’ she said emphatically, and she hung up. She sat watching the mobile on her desk, half expecting it to ring again. But it didn’t. It stayed silent.

FORTY-SEVEN

2018

‘Happy birthday to Kaaa-ate. Happy birthday to you!’ Tim and Iris (with a little bit of Donny thrown in between wrapping pieces of haddock in paper) finished singing to her.

Kate beamed. ‘Thank you.’ She blew out the candle that was stuck into a separate chip that Donny had put on a small plate. Tim had originally planned to take her and Iris to the new Mediterranean ‘fusion’ restaurant on the high street. But she hadn’t wanted him to. Truth was, she was still feeling guilty about how much more he’d taken on financially at home as she’d been so strapped for cash. And anyway, Iris thought ‘fusion’ sounded like something you did with a soldering iron.

‘Make a wish,’ insisted Iris.

Kate closed her eyes. I need a miracle, she thought. ‘All done,’ she declared.

‘Then let’s get stuck in,’ said Iris, picking up a piece of fish with her wooden fork.

Tim reached under the table for the large, wrapped box they’d all been pretending wasn’t there and slid it across the floor to Kate. ‘This is for you.’

Kate smiled and ripped off the paper.

‘I love it!’ she said of the top-of-the-range bread machine.

‘It’s so you can make your own. Organic. Because, you know . . .’

‘Thank you,’ said Kate, beaming.