‘You haven’t called,’ she said, but there was no smile in her eyes today, and doubt chimed through her voice. She wasn’t used to being resisted, he could tell.

‘No.’ He blinked, but kept his gaze steady, hating the visceral shock that came with connection with her.

‘Why?’

‘You know why.’

‘Do I?’

‘. . . Your boyfriend is my friend.’

Her eyes narrowed, not liking the reply. Sensing judgement? ‘We’ve only been together a few weeks. It’s not like I’ve married the guy.’

He shrugged. ‘He’s my friend,’ he repeated.

She scuffed the ground with one of those pretty pink toes. ‘Is that why you wouldn’t sit with us?’ She could be tart when it suited her.

‘I told you, I had to get back to work.’

She took in the old, patched-up boat: the blue baling bucket with string on the handle pushed under the bench seat; his father’s yellow oilskin rolled up at the back, home-made mackerel nets slumped in a heap. ‘And have you finished work now?’ She looked back at him with open interest, dazzling him with the full wattage of her sparkling blue eyes.

‘Yes. But I’m late.’

She gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘For what?’

‘Dinner.’

Her mouth parted. ‘. . . With your family?’ Her eyes gleamed mockingly but he could see the hurt she was trying to hide. She kept dangling bait, but he just wouldn’t bite. ‘You are just so very . . . good, aren’t you?’

He inhaled, wishing he wasn’t, not understanding what this was between them. They had barely shared five minutes of conversation together and yet they agitated something in the other, something restless.

‘Bye, Hanna.’ He unwound the final coil of rope and tossed it onto the jetty, letting the boat glide away from her and everything she promised.

And everything that that threatened.

Chapter Twelve

‘Bell, can we talk?’

Bell hesitated at the door, hearing the tension in Hanna’s voice. ‘. . . Sure.’ They’d been tiptoeing around one another for the past few days, with cringing politeness and bright smiles that bordered on lunacy.

It was late and yet again, the children had only just gone to bed. Another day that had started early and finished way past their bedtimes had left them all feeling exhausted, the unsetting sun less of a friend to her mid-week.

‘Here.’

Hanna was holding out a glass of red wine to her. ‘Oh. Thanks.’ She wandered over and took it, sitting politely on the edge of the sofa seat.

‘Fun day today.’

‘Yeah.’

Hanna curled up on the armchair beside the sofa, tucking her legs up, her scarlet nail polish winking in the shadows of the cushions. ‘The girls are loving that water pistol you bought them!’

‘Oh, it was just a cheapie; they had them on offer in Westerbergs when I went to get the milk.’

‘Well, anyway, it was thoughtful of you – as usual.’

Bell gave a stiff smile. Compliments and wine were nice, but she would rather have been enjoying what remained of her evening in solitude. By contrast, she suspected Hanna was lonely without Max here, that she craved some adult company.