Lottie parked and climbed out, taking a deep breath. The breeze was fragrant with sea air and freshly cut grass. She could do this. She stood tall. Gramps needed her. Dashing towards the front door, she caught a glimpse of broad shoulders walking through the courtyard. She stared for a second. Her brain said Alex but it couldn’t be. It was just wishful thinking brought about because of an old song. She hadn’t spoken to him in ten years and her last words to him had been unjust. But that wasn’t really important right now. Gran was. She ran, seeing a blur of large agapanthus heads against the white wall of the house. The colour popped with the intensity of their blue petals. They glowed like Tanzanite. Boskenna was different from every angle, but this view by the front door was her favourite. It had welcomed her every time as it did now.

The front door swung wide and Gramps hobbled out, leaning heavily on a cane. This was new. In February he hadn’t needed one. She swallowed then threw her arms around him. ‘Gramps, I’m so sorry I missed your calls.’

‘My darling Lottie, not to worry. You are here. That’s all that matters.’ His smile couldn’t have been wider, but he looked like he would break. He was eighty-eight, his birthday just last month, but how could he have become so fragile so quickly?

‘Gran?’ She studied his face for signs of hope. There were none.

‘Sleeping.’ He sighed.

‘Mum?’

‘Still upstairs, I believe.’ He shook his head and the smile slipped from his face. ‘I haven’t seen her yet.’ His weariness broke her heart and she wanted to wrap him in her arms again. When she was last here, she’d had Paul with her and maybe that was why she hadn’t seen their frailty. She’d been too bloody focused on making sure Paul had a good time. But he hadn’t. He’d hated Cornwall. It had rained like they needed an ark. Maybe Cornwall had hated him, or it had simply been giving her a sign which she’d ignored. God, she’d wished she’d listened. Since then Gramps had shrunk. He had never been a big man, but he’d been fit for his age. He stood in front of her now looking old, really old.

‘You must be desperate for tea. It’s such a beastly journey.’ His voice was still strong and distinctive with that peculiar mix of English vocabulary and American twang. It reminded her a bit of JFK in old documentaries.

‘Is it OK if I just go see Gran and then have some tea?’

He nodded.

‘I promise I won’t wake her.’

‘Go.’ He smiled at her.

She hesitated. Should she stay with him a bit longer? But she might not have much time with Gran. She raced up to Gran’s room. She was through the door, breathless, then stopped abruptly. Gran was asleep in a big armchair. Her beautiful skin was thin and slightly yellow with her white hair flat against her head. Lottie reached out to it. She could fix that for her. Even combing it would make Gran look more like Gran. That and a touch of pink lipstick.