‘Well, since I’ve worked with her she’s become a friend. We’ve talked about you – she’s fascinated by what you’ve done in Crovie, and loves the sound of your food. After I got your email I called her and asked if I could pass on her number, in case she could offer a bit of moral support. She’d love it if you’d give her a call. Actually she said she’s been thinking about getting in touch for a while.’

Anna frowned. ‘She has? Why?’

‘Probably to tell you how brilliant she thinks you’re being. She’s like that. I think a contact like Taymar might be exactly what you need right now.’

‘Okay,’ Anna said. ‘Thank you. I’ll give her a call.’

‘Do,’ Melissa urged her. ‘And I’m always here, too.’

Once they’d hung up Anna looked at the number she’d scribbled down, thinking that perhaps Melissa was right, she could do with some moral support from someone who’d ‘been there’. Taymar Zetelli was a colourful, larger-than-life character who had remained the chef-patron of her tiny eatery on the South coast through all three of her pregnancies. As her popularity grew, she’d opened more restaurants and every one of them had been led by women. Her cookery books had put her into a different sphere, as had the television series that had followed. Geoff hated her, ‘on principle’, although Anna had never understood quite what principle this was.

A couple of days later, Anna called the number she’d been given. The conversation that ensued went on for more than an hour, and in it Anna laughed for the first time since the terrible night that Frank had died.

Young Robbie was a great comfort to them all, but especially to Pat. He’d come in from school and immediately make her a cup of tea. He’d sit down with her and explain his day in detail, apparently understanding how much she enjoyed simply listening to his voice. He persuaded her to help him bake shortbread, and suggested that he organize a bake sale at school to raise money for the villagers of Crovie.

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Anna told him, not having the heart to point out that it was going to take a magnitude more than any bake sale could raise to save the village.

Part of her wondered whether this would finish Crovie off for good, the way the storm of 1953 had finally ended the fishing industry there.

‘That place has survived such a lot,’ Robert told her a few nights later, as they sat at the kitchen table together. Pat and Robbie had gone to bed, and the two of them were alone. ‘I have to believe there’ll be a way to get it back on its feet again.’