Once, she and Angie had been as close as sisters. They’d told each other everything. But that was a long time ago. College and life had separated them and then Angie had met John and moved to Boston and gradually their communication had dwindled. They were long past the stage where Liza felt comfortable exposing the details of her life to scrutiny.

She felt a sudden pang. She missed the deep friendship she and Angie had once had. The sort where you laughed until your sides ached and knew everything there was to know about one another. They’d shared clothes, stories and makeup. When Sean had kissed her, Angie had been the first person she’d told.

Once she’d had children her friendships had changed in nature and tended to be connected with lifestyle. At first, the common factor had been babies, then it had been school. It was friendship of sorts, but not the deep, authentic friendship she’d once enjoyed with Angie. Perhaps she’d treasured it all the more because she didn’t have that closeness with her mother.

Still, those days were long gone and she and Angie were different people now, their bonds torn by time, distance and life experience.

“Come tomorrow. We’ll take a picnic to the beach. We could swim if we’re feeling brave. We have so much to catch up on. Where are you living?”

“In my mother’s house.” Angie selected a jar of jam from the shelf. “My home, now. She died last year and I came over to sell it, but then decided to keep it. It’s small, but there’s room for Poppy to come and stay. Did you have more children?”

“No. The twins kept me busy!”

“I can imagine.” Angie gave Liza a hug. “It’s good to see you. Until tomorrow.”

Liza felt Angie’s hair brush her cheek, breathed in her floral scent.

She clung for a moment. She missed friendship. She missed intimacy.

Having hauled her many purchases back to the car, she arrived back at Oakwood Cottage feeling a thousand times better than she had when she’d started that morning.

She unpacked the food, put a selection onto a plate and the rest in the fridge.

Feeling decadent, she opened a bottle of wine, poured herself a glass and took it out onto the patio.

Popeye sat there, licking his fur. He paused long enough to throw her a look of disdain, and then carried on his grooming ritual.

“Have you always been this emotionally distant, or have you learned it from my mother?” Liza sat down, feeling summery in her new shorts and T-shirt, her feet finally comfortable in pretty flip-flops.

Her mother was right. She needed to try and capture this light, holiday feeling all year round, not only for a few weeks in August.

The rest of the afternoon and evening stretched ahead.

She should probably use the time cleaning her mother’s house, but she had no intention of doing that. The dust could stay where it was. She had better things to do.