He listened to the rustle of her retrieving her shoes from beside the sofa, felt the disturbance in the air as she left the room. Heard her go into the kitchen for her coat, her shoes tapping up the hall and then the front door opening and closing. He fell back into his chair, stomach churning. How had he ever been in love with a woman who could first wound him, then slice open that wound out of fucking expediency?

He did feel sorry for the baby but he couldn’t give up his life to be Pippa’s easy answer.

Chapter Seven

By evening, the rain had blown away and the temperature had plummeted. Through the kitchen window, Laurel could see frost twinkling in luminous moonlight as her hands performed the automatic movements of slicing veg.

Daisy slouched on a kitchen chair, phone in hand. ‘Thanks for sorting Mum out about the Christmas wreaths,’ she said suddenly. They’d put the enterprise to Rea when they’d returned home from Craft Stuff, omitting the detail that Daisy had been going to deliver wreaths to people’s houses alone until Laurel stepped in.

Carefully, Laurel said to Daisy, ‘I know you’re protecting your mum by not telling her things that might stress her, but that’s not an excuse to do stuff on the quiet that you know she wouldn’t approve of.’

Daisy glanced up. Then back at her phone. Then up at Laurel again. Her eyes filled with tears, which she blinked way.

‘Daisy?’ Laurel said uncertainly, laying her knife down on the chopping board.

Daisy’s lip wobbled. ‘Is Mum still in the bath?’

‘I think so. I told her to take a glass of wine and a magazine in there for a long soak while I made dinner. What’s the matter?’ Laurel rinsed her hands and crossed the room to crouch beside her niece’s chair and stroke the long, tumbled, windswept curls that lay over Daisy’s shoulder.

Daisy wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘How long do you think you’re staying?’ she asked thickly.

Laurel shrugged. ‘Here? I don’t know, yet.’ Until I can get away, she thought. She got up and fetched several tissues from a box on the windowsill and passed them to her niece.

‘But for a while? You’re not leaving in January, say? Or February?’ Daisy blew her nose.

The questions made Laurel uneasy, not just because it was so unlike Daisy to press her but also because it illuminated in a bright, white spotlight the fact that Laurel had no real idea how long she’d be stuck in Middledip. She stroked Daisy’s arm. ‘I’ve spent all week getting Nan’s studio up to scratch, haven’t I? I wouldn’t do that if I only planned to stay a few weeks. I’ll soon start a new painting.’

‘Only …’ Daisy gulped. ‘There’s something I can’t tell Mum.’