Rutland seemed a million miles from Cricklewood, and that was no bad thing. London was a past life — one which was best left alone.

‘Tea?’ Mark asked, placing one hand on the small of her back as he kissed her on the cheek.

‘Coffee, please. Black.’

‘Ooh. One of those?’

‘Didn’t sleep well. Kept tossing and turning.’

Mark forced a smile. ‘Ah. I slept like a log. Sorry.’

‘I noticed,’ she said, smiling.

‘Listen, I was going to suggest we all go for a walk or a bike ride later. It’s meant to be a nice day, once the mist clears. Will do the boys the world of good, too. Get them off that bloody Xbox for a couple of hours.’

She couldn’t argue with that. Josh was as addicted to console games as any other ten-year-old. But it was the frequency with which six-year-old Archie played them that worried her most. Back in London, it hadn’t been an issue. The odd game of FIFA or Fortnite was preferable to the boys walking the streets of Cricklewood and Neasden. But Rutland was a different world altogether, and she knew it’d be good for the boys to get out and about a bit more.

Caroline remembered how her husband’s eyes had lit up when he’d found out about Rutland’s cycling and leisure scene. He’d always cycled when they’d lived in London and was a fitness fanatic. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ she said. ‘Let’s see how the weather turns out.’

‘I was thinking we could even pop into a village pub somewhere, get to know a few of the locals.’

Caroline raised an eyebrow.

‘It’d be good to make some contacts,’ he said. ‘Friends, even. It’s a pretty sociable place, and I feel like we should at least try to join in. I still can’t get used to people saying hello when you walk past them in the street.’ Mark stirred the mug of instant coffee and handed it to her. ‘It’ll be good for the boys,’ he said.

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s wait for it to warm up a bit first, though, eh? I haven’t quite acclimatised enough to have stocked up on jodhpurs and waxed jackets yet.’

‘Ooh arr, you’re a local now, missus!’ Mark teased, embarrassing himself with a faux West Country accent rather than the gentle East Midlands burr of the local area.

Caroline shook her head and laughed before turning back towards the stove and flipping the gently sizzling pancakes.

‘Nearly ready?’ Mark asked.

‘Almost.’

‘Boys, grub’s up!’ he yelled, without taking even a cursory step towards the bottom of the stairs.

Seconds later came the sound of feet thundering down the staircase, before two hungry faces — complete with bed-head hair — arrived in the kitchen.