“Whatever works for you, Mrs. Harrison. But what do you need me to buy? If you make me a list, then I can go and buy whatever you need. Tea?”

“You can leave the tea to me. This is for your personal items. You’ll need comfortable clothes for driving. A soft bag that will squash into a small space. Sunglasses so that we both look cool when we’re driving our cool car. A scarf to stop your lovely curls blowing across your face as we’re speeding along the highway? A couple of dresses?”

Martha tugged at her T-shirt. “I’m more of a jeans girl, but thank you. That’s generous. Are you sure?”

“If I’m expecting you to drive two thousand four hundred miles then the least I can do is make sure you’re comfortable doing it.” Kathleen handed over a thick wad of cash. “Ignore Liza’s frown. My daughter is careful about everything.”

What was wrong with being careful? Since when was it a sin to be reliable?

Where was the virtue in throwing off responsibility giving no thought to others?

Liza felt a hot stinging behind her eyes.

Never mind that she’d spent every other weekend in Cornwall since her mother’s “incident”. Never mind that she’d had little time with her own crumbling family.

None of her efforts had brought her closer to her mother and they never would.

Hurt, she gave a brief smile and walked to the door. “I’m going for a walk. Nice to meet you, Martha. Enjoy the trip.” She almost felt sorry for Martha, who was so smiley and optimistic. Whatever her reasons for agreeing to this, Liza was confident she had no idea what she was letting herself in for. And as for the promise to keep Kathleen safe—well, good luck with that.

Suddenly she badly wanted to go home. Maybe they’d leave after breakfast tomorrow, instead of waiting until lunchtime as planned. She’d make a nice supper for the girls. They’d eat as a family.

As she and Sean walked across the fields to the beach, Liza breathed slowly and deeply. It was beautiful, but she couldn’t ever properly relax here. Part of relaxing was being able to leave all the jobs behind, and here in Oakwood Cottage there were far too many jobs glaring at her. Future complications loomed. Her mother falling. The house crumbling.

Sean stooped to pick up a shell from the sand. “Martha seems great.”

“Mmm.” She watched the waves break onto the shore. She’d always felt a sense of responsibility. Even as a child, she’d felt it. She’d cooked for her father and tried to make up for her mother’s many absences.