Out on the lawn, she could see Alex collecting the cushions from the garden chairs. Why had he come back to Cornwall? In the immediate aftermath of ten years ago, she hadn’t wanted to hear about him, or Cornwall, or what people were saying about her. It had been a terrible tragedy and she was part of it. Her life altered that day, everything had.

Weary after the journey – hell, just weary from life – she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound of the sea soothe her, along with the distant sound of Gramps snoring downstairs. But it could be no more than a moment for time was precious. Eyes now wide open so as not to miss a thing, she grabbed the vase and headed down the hall and up the steps to Gran’s room, listening for sounds of Mum chatting to her, but it was quiet. Sticking her head through the bedroom doorway, she found Gran sleeping in the chair and no sign of her mother. Lottie placed the vase on a table then walked back to the chair. She stroked Gran’s forehead and Gran mumbled a few words. They weren’t in English. She leaned closer to try and decipher the language. It sounded like Russian.

Lottie stepped back. They had lived in Russia so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Gran could speak it. Years ago, at the back of the garden shed behind an old terracotta plant pot, Lottie had found the matryoshka doll that sat on her windowsill. When she’d asked about it, a sad smile had crossed Gran’s face. She had wiped the grime off the outer doll and wriggled it until she could open it. To Lottie’s delight she released the next then the baby doll inside. Gran had explained it had belonged to her mother from their time in Moscow. She’d put it all back together for her and said she’d thought it had been long since lost. Lottie could still remember holding it and feeling connected to her mother, who was then in Kosovo. There were three dolls . . . one for each of them.

Whatever Gran was saying now, her voice was too weak for Lottie to hear properly. She seemed to be in a fitful sleep. Lottie kissed her forehead and she stilled. Her eyes opened. ‘Lottie.’ Her smile filled Lottie’s heart. ‘Your mother?’ Her voice was thin, like her frail body.

‘She’s downstairs I think, maybe with Gramps.’

‘Help her to be kind to him.’

Lottie nodded. That would be a challenge. Without Gran, Lottie wasn’t sure that her mother would give him the time of day. ‘I’ll look after him.’

‘I know, dear one. He has loved me when no one else could.’ She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘He has understood when no one could.’

‘Gramps is wonderful.’ Just thinking about him, Lottie grinned. He’d been more than a grandfather. He’d been a father figure, teaching her to ride a bike and fly a kite. He’d been there to listen.