Verity placed her hand on the window. Frozen. She wanted to run back to Flynn House – she didn’t want to be a part of this, but Hugh was suddenly back.

‘Call an ambulance,’ he cried, before rushing back out to Pippa.

Verity snapped back from the window, put down her coffee, and picked up the phone receiver. But she knew by the sound of silence on the other end that the phone line was down – it often was, the connection to the mainland poor. She looked towards the front door, her heart thudding, and slammed the receiver down. She knew little about delivering someone else’s baby, and Hugh knew even less.

‘We need to get her inside the cottage,’ she cried, as she hurried through the front door, and across the lawn to where he was kneeling, clasping Pippa’s hand. She was on her back now, sprawled on the grass. ‘She can’t give birth out here in the garden.’

Pippa let out an agonised cry, her face contorted with pain as she grabbed her stomach.

‘What the hell do we do?’ Hugh’s eyes were pleading, as though Verity could make everything right, as she always did. ‘Did you call an ambulance?’ He looked out across the sea with watery eyes. ‘The tide’s in. Should we get the boat out?’

‘They’re on their way, Hugh.’ It was a lie. But Verity didn’t want to worry him further. They could deliver this child, couldn’t they? Everything would be OK. ‘We need to get her inside the cottage,’ she repeated.

‘No!’ Pippa cried, as they attempted to move her, fat tears rolling down her face. ‘Please. No.’

Hugh had told her once that Pippa hadn’t seen a doctor in all the time she’d been carrying the child – insisting natural was best.

‘Get some towels, Hugh,’ Verity said, her voice shaking. ‘Boil some kettles, that’s what they do on TV.’

‘Christ, you haven’t got a clue, have you?’

‘I’m a bloody artist, not a midwife.’

‘Will one of you please get a grip?’ Pippa roared through her tears, squeezing her eyes together, the pain clearly unbearable. ‘Help me for God’s sake.’

Hugh grabbed Pippa’s hand and Verity sucked in a breath. ‘OK. Let’s both of us calm down, shall we?’ she said. ‘How hard can it be? People have been having babies since the beginning of time.’ She swiped her palm across her forehead. ‘Go get some towels, Hugh.’ Her voice was low and raspy. ‘And a blanket or something, and boil up some scissors to cut the cord, a pillow for her head, maybe.’