“Of course not. Why would you think that? Did Olive say—”

“No. Granny hasn’t mentioned it but…we’ve spent a bit of time together while you were away and…well, I think she’s lonely.”

“It was her choice to move.”

Laura winced. “While you were away I cleaned for her and when I told Dad you usually did it he got cross.”

“I don’t know why; he knew I did it.”

“I don’t think he realised how much you did. Anyway, yesterday Granny and I gave the lounge and dining room here a going-over.”

“That was kind of you. I hope Olive didn’t overdo it though.”

“She mostly sat in the chair and gave instructions but she said something while she was dusting the photos. She said if she didn’t live in the unit it would be less work for you.”

“I suppose she’s right. I didn’t mind at first but recently…I’ve been thinking I’d investigate some home help for her.”

“I think she made a mistake,” Laura said.

“A mistake?”

“Moving into town. I think she’d rather still be here at the farm with her family.” Laura went back to her chopping and Natalie felt the stirrings of guilt. It had been Olive’s decision to move but she’d been happy to help her, encouraged her even. Natalie had started talking about making over rooms, delighted at the prospect of being totally in charge of her own home after all those years of sharing. She remembered making a joke about not needing to form a committee to make changes any more and Olive’s response. It had been swift. “That’s why I’m moving. I’ve never had a place of my own,” she’d said. It had taken Natalie aback. She’d often hated the fact she couldn’t make decisions about her own home but that had been Olive’s lot as well. She’d moved into Clem’s family home with her parents-in-law and they’d only moved to a retirement home a little before Milt met Natalie. Like Natalie, Olive had never had her own space.

“Mum, there’s something else.”

Natalie dragged her thoughts back. Laura’s voice had that edge to it again.

“I’ve met someone. I really like him and…he’s…he’s someone you know.”

Natalie’s heart froze as she imagined Jack Halbot’s smiling face, his hand on Laura’s hair, but then she remembered he wasn’t Milt’s son so…

“It’s Paul Brown.”

“Oh.” The breath she’d been holding rushed out.

“Mum, I know you don’t like him.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him.”

“What then?”

“It’s nothing. I’m glad you’ve met someone.”

“He thinks you’re great.”

“Does he?”