Gramps was in his armchair because the sofa was now just too low for him to use without help. He didn’t want assistance, as she’d discovered in February when Paul had taken the armchair. Gran had called him a stubborn old mule when he wouldn’t be helped out of it and said to leave him to it. She hadn’t been herself then, now Lottie thought about it. She had been quieter and greyer. She must have known but hadn’t said anything. How could she have when Lottie had spent the weekend trying to get Paul to see Cornwall, Boskenna and her grandparents for the wonders they were. She shouldn’t have wasted her breath for he was a liar and a thief.

Her mother, gin in hand, paced in front of the French windows, looking out to the sea fret. She had been refreshing hers and Gramps’ drinks with ice when Lottie had walked into the silence.

‘Alex is going to bring Gran.’ Lottie perched on the arm of the sofa halfway between the two of them.

‘Alex?’ Her mother turned. Lottie braced herself. A decade ago her mother had forbidden her from ever getting in touch with him again. Lottie hadn’t blamed her. But Alex hadn’t been the problem – she had. She was the one who had lied to her mother. True, it was because of Alex that she hadn’t taken the internship her mother had arranged – but it was Lottie’s decision, not his.

‘Yes, Alex Hoskine has been a godsend to Joan and me.’

Lottie jumped to her feet. ‘Is there anything I can get for her?’

‘The nurse will be here shortly.’ Her mother turned to look at her.

‘Oh.’ Gramps and her mother obviously had a chat. This was good, progress even. ‘Should she stay upstairs?’

‘No, if she feels up to joining us, that is wonderful.’ He gave her a brave smile.

‘How often does the nurse come?’ Lottie asked, looking at Gramps’ face. She saw him trying to hold it all together.

‘Morning and evening.’ He took a sip of whisky. ‘Or more frequently if needed.’

Her heart sank. No wonder Alex had started helping.

‘She should be in a hospice. Not here.’ Her mother sighed and turned from the windows.

‘She is where she wants to be.’ He spoke with quiet determination.

‘Mum,’ Lottie stood.

‘The place is a wreck, a relic even.’ Her mother waved her hand. ‘The upstairs windows are coated in salt and the woodwork is rotting from the constant assault of the weather while two people rattle about in a few rooms.’

Gramps put his drink down. ‘Joan loves it.’

‘Does she? Does she really?’ Her mother shook her head. ‘I can’t see how.’ She walked towards Gramps. ‘I don’t know how you can stand it, living in the house that they lived in together.’

‘Mum.’ Lottie moved towards her then stopped. Where was this anger coming from?

‘We are all grown-ups here. No need to mince words.’ She topped up her drink and Lottie raised an eyebrow. Her mother wasn’t a big drinker.