She pushed the door open. They were at the sink. Alex was washing and Liv was wiping baking tins dry. She had a red-and-white-striped tea towel tied around her hips.

‘What can I do?’ said Bea to their backs.

‘Nothing, this is fun,’ said Liv. ‘It’s like being a single girl again. It reminds me of sharing that house in Chelsea, before I met your father.’

‘Can I help?’ said Bea.

Neither of them turned.

‘No,’ repeated Liv. ‘You go up.’

‘Alex?’ said Bea.

He didn’t answer.

‘Alex?’

‘Hold on, Mum,’ said Alex.

‘Really?’

‘Just give me a minute. I need to take the rubbish out,’ he said.

‘I’ll wait,’ she said, dried her hands and looked around, forlornly.

Bea followed him through to the annexe. He tied up the bags that were half full, and opened the side door with a key. Bea saw Liv watching them as they went outside. There were boxes of empty bottles and a heap of other rubbish bags stacked against the side wall, some ripped open by foxes, with garbage spilling out.

‘Sorry,’ he said, cramming what he could into the bag he was carrying and kicking the mess aside. ‘I get a bit behind.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Bea. She picked up a crate of bottles, and they went together, down the path, separated from the driveway by a screen of trees and nettles. It was still raining slightly, hard to see but drenching and light.

‘God,’ she said.

‘Yep.’

‘We could all run away tomorrow,’ she said. ‘You, me and Dan? For the day?’

‘I can’t. I’ve got a thing Dad needs me to do.’

‘What thing?’

‘Just an errand.’

They reached the lay-by, and big wheelie bins. Alex flipped up the tops, and flung the bags inside.

‘I’ll be back in the afternoon.’ The rain was fine, like a web on his T-shirt and hair, gathering in droplets. ‘She wants to go round the shops with me. Get stuff for the hotel.’

‘Maybe the next day?’

‘I thought Dan wanted to head off. See the seven wonders and whatever.’

‘Not yet.’

He wiped off his hands on his jeans, took a small, flat bottle of brandy from his back pocket and offered it to her.

‘Digestif?’ he said.

She didn’t want any but she took a sip for companionship, and handed it back. He drank the rest, sucking the very last of it from the neck. The rain drifted down around them, soundless and soft.

‘I’m sorry we can’t stay longer,’ she said.

He shrugged and threw the small bottle into the bin and wiped his mouth. ‘Your husband doesn’t like us. Understandable. I don’t either.’

‘He likes you.’

Alex shrugged. ‘He thinks I’m an arsehole. He’s got a point.’

She shook her head. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

They started slowly back together, along the road, through the main gate, and up the drive smelling the earth and the fresh leaves, chilled by the wet spring night.

‘When you’re gone,’ said Alex, ‘and you look back, this will feel like a dream.’