Blood heated her cheeks. ‘No, because she didn’t try for any of her dreams once I was off her hands, either – though I suppose if we wanted to keep The Nookery then she needed steady income.’ She dropped her empty cup and stamped it flat to relieve her frustration and guilt. ‘Later, she fell for Daisy’s dad Ewan. He was a charmer but, unfortunately, when she got pregnant with Daisy his charm disappeared. He never wanted to be a parent.’ She tried not to compare that with her and Alex yearning for their own child but, instead, experiencing assisted pregnancies followed by the bitter disappointment of her body rejecting what it had so reluctantly started. She went on, ‘Ewan began cheating. Then he left and Rea took sole responsibility for Daisy, just as she once did for me.’ She drew in her knees and propped her elbows on them. ‘She was only ever a “tiger” when forced by circumstance to fight for things. What I didn’t realise then was that she was also fighting fears and anxieties that, over the years, made her view the house as her only safe place. Instead of wowing the world as the lovely, kind Rea I know she is, she’s shut herself away.’

They fell silent. Rain began pattering against the window and hitting the ground outside the open door. Shivering, Laurel looked around, taking in the bulk of an enormous grey car, spray guns on the wall and a small compressor. For a spray shop, it seemed a modest set-up. She wondered whether it was what he could afford and if habitually keeping the door ajar was a cheap method of ventilation.

Grady broke into her thoughts. ‘Yesterday, you said “it wasn’t you” when I asked why you began ignoring me. So tell me what it was.’ His gaze had zeroed in on her.

Her stomach lurched. She cast a glance at the door, beginning to wish she’d never given in to the impulse to come through it. But here she was and here Grady was and it was probably as well to formulate an explanation that would fly and get it over with. She looked down at her hands, still bearing traces of White Whisper from the studio walls. ‘I was a frightened sixteen-year-old but we were friends. I know I treated you badly.’ So far, so truthful.

‘Frightened?’ he all-but barked. Then, more moderately, he added, ‘Slightly more than friends, as I remember it.’

‘Yeah.’ She remembered, too. Wary of the unwanted attention her early physical development had prompted, the only kisses she’d exchanged with boys had been the under-the-mistletoe-but-we’re-not-together kind, quick pecks with pursed lips … until Grady. With him she’d felt safe to explore the joys of open mouths and caressing tongues and mistletoe had become her favourite festive greenery. They’d been approaching girlfriend/boyfriend status until … Laurel swallowed. ‘Do you remember Amie Blunt?’