The rest of the morning passed without incident. Lucy told me that Dad had left word the day before saying that he was going to work from home, which was a huge relief, and with the contract clutched tight in Chris’s competent hands I took some time that afternoon to trawl the internet in search of the perfect getaway, but it was easier said than done.

The whole world was literally just a flight away but I couldn’t make up my mind where to go. I had all but given up on my search and was about to log out of my computer, when an email pinged into my personal inbox . . .

Dear Miss Tyler, I’m mailing to inform you that Crow’s Nest Cottage has become available for the next two weeks due to an unexpected cancellation. I appreciate that it is extremely short notice, but if you could let me know if you are still interested in renting the cottage from this Monday – the 18th – I will be happy to renegotiate the price. Looking forward to hearing from you. Sam

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Needless to say, given my acknowledgement that I needed to look after myself and my recent discovery about Dad’s behaviour, I didn’t feel even a hint of guilt as I typed that I was indeed interested in taking the cottage for the next two weeks. My vertigo, coupled with Joan’s timely words about work and Mum’s heart-wrenching diary entries, were all the proof I needed that I was taking the right course of action and just in the nick of time.

I was going to Wynmouth without a backwards glance, although not a clear conscience. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to forgive myself for not spotting the signs of Dad’s philandering. I should have been there to support Mum but instead, I had been so obsessed with work, I’d been oblivious, but not anymore. I was going to spend the next two weeks re-evaluating my life and my relationships and get myself back on the right track. It was too late to make a difference with Mum, but learning the lesson would be the best way to respect her memory.

I held my breath as I dialled the home number to make my excuses for not being able to carry on clearing Mum’s things as we’d planned when I left the weekend before and prayed that Dad wouldn’t be the one to answer.

‘The Tyler residence.’

It was a relief to hear Joan’s voice. Explaining to her that I still wasn’t up to scratch would be a doddle and, if she relayed my message, then I wouldn’t have to speak to Dad at all. I could send him a text on Monday saying that Chris was in charge and that I would be back at work in a fortnight. Simple.

‘Hi Joan,’ I said, ‘it’s me.’