‘Wow, Pete, that’s amazing. Really beautiful,’ said Meredith. ‘Isn’t it, Paula?’

Paula didn’t say anything. She was just twirling the stem of her empty wineglass round and round, perhaps as a hint that she wanted yet another drink.

Meredith didn’t want her to carry on drinking. It would only make her more maudlin.

‘Do you fancy a walk down the towpath, Paula? I could do with stretching my legs and clearing my head. I’m not used to drinking in the daytime.’

Liar! she shouted at herself. It was at almost the same time of day that she’d been knocking back Jack Daniels with Paula’s dead husband during the last couple of hours of his life.

‘Not really,’ Paula said in a small voice.

Meredith shot Pete a glance. She could tell that he was reluctantly wondering if he had to invite her to stay for dinner. She felt guiltily relieved that she was at Pete’s rather than in her own cottage, because if she’d been home there’d have been no excuse not to extend the offer.

‘What time did you say Jackson’s coming back?’ she asked, as gently as she could.

Paula shrugged. ‘He’s going to cook dinner. Not that I could eat anything.’

‘Oh that’s so nice, he’s cooking!’ exclaimed the twins in tandem, and Meredith hoped Paula didn’t pick up that their enthusiasm was as much for their own sakes as hers.

Grief did strange things to people. Which of them knew how they’d react in that situation; become maudlin and morose, quiet and withdrawn, inconsolably tearful – or all of the above? When their dad died, Mum had been like Paula was being right now – tetchy and unbearable, and Meredith remembered it felt to Pete and her as seventeen-year-olds that their mother just wanted to make everyone else suffer the way she was.

That was partly what had driven Meredith away. That, and Samantha of course. The fact that Pete had forgiven her for abandoning him to deal with Mum was yet another testament to his kind heart. Even if it had taken him a few years…

Would Paula ever forgive her, though, for what she’d done to her? Of course she wouldn’t, if she ever found out, and who could blame her?

Meredith looked over at Paula. She’d put the wineglass down on the roof and was biting her nails, working at them with her teeth, trying to pull off bits of cuticle, a vacant expression in her bloodshot eyes.

‘What time are you having dinner?’ Meredith asked, tentatively.

‘Are you trying to get rid of me?’ Paula bit back.

‘No! Of course not, Paul. Honestly, you can stay as long as you want. Can’t she, Pete?’

Pete nodded, looking faintly terrified.