Kitabı oku: «A Perfect Cornish Christmas»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Phillipa Ashley

About the Publisher

Chapter One
Christmas Day 2018

Brushing sleet from her eyes, Scarlett Latham hesitated over the sign on the door of the Smuggler’s Tavern.

Feeling lonely and lost? On your own on Christmas Day?

Join us for a free festive dinner.

No need to book! Just walk in!

Everyone welcome.

Scarlett wrapped her arms around her body, trying to hug some life into her frozen limbs, but her thin party dress offered no protection from the biting wind.

The streets of Porthmellow were deserted as all the normal people of the Cornish harbour town prepared to enjoy Christmas lunch with their friends and families. In contrast, the windowpanes of the pub glowed with warmth and the sound of laughter and music drifted out onto the quayside. Scarlett looked at the sign again, teetering on the brink: step into the light, or stay out here in the sleet? The board’s words were becoming fuzzy as her tears mingled with the wet snow, but she could still make them out.

Feeling lonely and lost?

A sob caught in her throat. She hadn’t felt lonely or lost until two hours before. Now she’d never felt more alone in her life … She caught sight of her reflection in the dark glass of the outer door. It was even worse than she had thought: she was soaked to the skin in her Christmas Day finest, her mascara running down her face in rivers. Did she dare cross the threshold? What would people think?

She read the last line again.

Everyone welcome.

Some instinct deep inside propelled her through the tavern’s entrance. It seemed bizarre to join someone else’s Christmas festivities when her own had gone so spectacularly wrong. Maybe she wanted to prove that Christmas could and should be a happy time when people set aside their differences and enjoyed each other’s company for a few hours. Or maybe she was simply afraid she’d otherwise freeze to death and be found huddled against a pile of lobster pots, covered in snowflakes, like the Little Match Girl.

The oak door creaked open onto a scene of warmth and light that was a world away from the frozen gloom of the deserted harbour. People in paper hats were letting off party poppers and blowing tooters in each other’s faces. Crimson and green cloths covered the tables, which were laid for a Christmas feast, while tinsel shimmered in the glow from the fire. The smooth voice of Michael Bublé was crooning from the speakers, ‘Tis the season to be jolly …’

A gust of wind snatched the door from her hand and banged it shut behind her. In an instant, the cold was cut out and a dozen faces turned in her direction.

It was too late to turn back now, she’d stepped over the threshold. They’d be bound to ask questions, seeing how distressed she was, but was she ready to answer them?

An elderly man in a fisherman’s cap decorated with tinsel hurried over to her. He was vaguely familiar … though her numb brain couldn’t put a name to the weather-beaten features.

‘Hello, my maid. Welcome to the Smuggler’s Tavern. Have you come for the Lunch for the Lonely? You’re very welcome, even if you’ve a strange choice of shoes for the weather.’

With a cackle of laughter, he pointed to her feet. Scarlett looked down too. Her new rabbit slippers, a gift from her sister, Ellie, were now a sodden mush of grey fluff, as if the unfortunate bunnies had met a sad end on a snowy road. Her Christmas tights had a spud-sized hole at the knee and the hem on her sequinned skirt was drooping.

‘You must be freezing.’ The old man’s tone softened. ‘Here, have my cardi.’

‘I’m …’ Scarlett was going to refuse, but realised that her teeth were chattering. ‘It l-looks new … Don’t you n-need it?’

Already taking it off, he pulled a face. ‘No. Can’t stand the bleddy thing. Unwanted present from my cousin. Does it every year. Same cardi, same colour, always the wrong size.’

He draped the cardigan, a sludge-coloured cable-knit with leather buttons, around Scarlett’s shoulders. The warmth was instant and for a second, she felt comforted. Then she realised that the tooters had stopped tooting and she’d replaced Michael Bublé as the festive entertainment.

A man about her own age approached, a wary expression on his face. He was very tall, very blond and wearing a green sparkly jumper and an elf hat with pointy ears. He reminded Scarlett of the Big Friendly Giant. He was joined by a young woman wearing a Santa apron and an elderly lady in a glittery top and reindeer ears, holding a walking stick bedecked with tinsel. They were all smiling at Scarlett, with looks of pity on their faces.

The older man tucked the cardi tight around Scarlett’s shoulders and pulled back a chair from one of the tables that was laid for Christmas dinner.

‘Have a seat, love,’ he said. ‘I’m Troy, by the way.’

‘Yes, and have some hot punch,’ the younger woman added. Scarlett noticed that her apron had ‘Sam’ printed on it. ‘It’s non-alcoholic,’ she told her gently.

That was it. Sam must think she was pissed.

‘I – I h-have only had a couple of glasses of f-fizz,’ Scarlett said. ‘And some eggnog, but it tasted like sick so I chucked it in the c-camellias.’

Sam smiled indulgently. ‘Would you like us to find you some dry shoes?’ she asked.

The elf man produced a fleece and draped it over her knees as if she were in a nursing home. ‘Another unwanted present,’ he said, flashing her an apologetic smile. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Jude.’

‘I’m …’ Scarlett’s lips were numb. She tried to lift her hand, but couldn’t.

Jude subsided like a sunken cake. ‘Possibly bad timing. Maybe we can properly introduce ourselves when you’ve warmed up a bit?’

Scarlett nodded. Despite Troy’s cardigan, she was still shivering and finding it hard to understand what people were saying to her. Her brain felt like the slush clinging to her slippers. She opened her mouth but it wouldn’t connect to her thoughts.

‘I’m Sam,’ the kind-eyed, younger woman said, then pointed to her apron and rolled her eyes. ‘But you must have guessed that.’ She crouched down in front of Scarlett. ‘You’re wet through … What’s happened to you?’

‘I – I c-can’t really s-say right now,’ Scarlett stuttered, at a loss how to explain the havoc that had been unleashed on her family that Christmas morning.

‘OK … Maybe you’ll feel better when you’ve had something to eat,’ Jude said gently. He pulled off his elf hat, as if out of respect, and revealed blond hair tied in a ponytail.

‘Yes, why don’t you stay for a hot meal, my love?’ The elderly woman smiled at Scarlett. ‘I’m Evie. You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to, my dear, but it would help us if you could let us know who you are?’

‘Who I am …’ A series of images flashed into Scarlett’s hazy brain.

Her mum running into the scullery and refusing to come out. Her father standing outside the door, demanding to know what it all meant. Her brother, Marcus, shouting at Scarlett and her sister, Ellie, for ruining Christmas Day and Ellie, normally so calm, screaming back that it wasn’t their fault. The house ringing with accusations, shouts, tears and denials … and Marcus’s two boys in the middle of it all, pale-faced and terrified.

Heidi, Scarlett’s sister-in-law, had threatened to take them out of ‘this toxic situation’ before screeching, ‘And I would do if I hadn’t had so much eggnog.’

Scarlett had rounded on her saying: ‘It’s bloody horrible, anyway.’

Then, to cap it all, the smoke alarm had gone off.

‘Jesus Christ, the oven’s on fire!’ Marcus had bellowed. ‘Get the boys out!’

He’d opened the oven door and clouds of smoke had billowed out from the cremated roast potatoes and pigs-in-blankets.

Ellie, of course, had then tried to calm everyone down and their mum had let out a wail from behind the door.

And Scarlett hadn’t cared. She’d wanted her mother to suffer. How could she have done this to the family? To her father? To her?

She’d had to get away, knocking back a full glass of fizz as she went. What a mess, what a horrible mess. She had only just begun to get over her split from her boyfriend, Rafa, and she’d thought she could at least rely on her family for some solace and fun. More importantly, she’d wanted so much to make them happy, to give them something that showed how much she cared for them and appreciated the bond they shared.

Now it had all been blown to smithereens and some of the people she’d thought she knew and loved were strangers to her. Worse, some of them seemed to blame her for what had happened, as if she was the one who’d lied and cheated and lobbed a bomb into the family.

While the smoke alarm shrieked and her siblings argued in the kitchen, she’d slipped through the French windows into the grounds of Seaholly Manor. The cold had snatched her breath away and the sleet had felt like needles on her face, but she hadn’t cared.

She’d fled up the lane, her party dress soaked within minutes, praying no one came after her. Her lungs were bursting by the time she reached the main road. A pick-up truck had passed her, slowing briefly before speeding up again when the driver saw a wet madwoman in a party dress and bunny slippers rushing down the hill into Porthmellow.

She’d been shivering uncontrollably by the time she reached the harbour, its Christmas lights twinkling through the grey haze of a winter noon. That’s when she truly clocked that she might be in danger of hypothermia and that bunny slippers, a party dress and a stomach full of twiglets and Prosecco might not be the best protection against the worst the Atlantic could throw at her.

Reluctantly, she’d realised that the only thing to do was get to a pub or restaurant and call Ellie and ask her to walk down with some dry clothes and meet her … she hadn’t taken her bag or her phone, so she’d have to beg someone to let her use their landline. She wouldn’t call her mother; she couldn’t bear to speak to her – and as for her father, how could she ever face him again?

‘How’s your knee, my maid?’ Evie’s voice reached her. It was gentle and soft, the voice of a mother to her daughter, and triggered a fresh wave of despair at what she’d lost.

Her gaze fell upon the red and bleeding skin beneath the hole in her tights.

Oh yes, she’d stumbled on the cobbles by the Fisherman’s Institute. Just like when she was little and had tumbled, it hadn’t truly hurt until someone had tried to comfort her. Now, it throbbed like mad. Everything had begun to hurt as the numbness thawed, her senses came back to life and the awful realisation of what had happened back at the manor hit her.

The gift – from Scarlett and her older sister, Ellie – was supposed to be the perfect present to her family. It was meant to fill their faces with delight and joy, not pain and anger.

She stared back at Troy, Sam, Evie and Jude, and the blur of faces behind them.

Evie patted her hand. ‘Do you even know who you are, my maid?’

‘I thought I did,’ said Scarlett. ‘But I don’t any more.’

Chapter Two
Two hours earlier Seaholly Manor, Porthmellow

Scarlett took a moment to scan the sitting room at Seaholly Manor. Everything was running like clockwork. The floor was a sea of wrapping paper and packaging, coffee cups and champagne flutes, some containing the dregs of the Buck’s Fizz they’d sipped while opening their presents.

The past few months of careful planning alongside Ellie were about to pay off.

Ellie appeared by Scarlett’s side, a laptop in her arms. ‘Auntie Joan would have approved, don’t you think?’ she murmured.

‘Definitely,’ Scarlett replied, taking the laptop from Ellie.

‘I’ll get us a drink while we set up.’

Ellie went into the kitchen and Scarlett connected her laptop into the TV. A ripple of excitement ran through her. Their plan to have the perfect family Christmas at Seaholly Manor was all going according to plan and yes, Great Aunt Joan would surely have been proud of them. Sadly, she’d passed away in the summer, but Scarlett felt that the Lathams were honouring her memory in the best possible way by gathering at Joan’s home for a couple of weeks.

Joan had been a very successful and flamboyant romance novelist, whose bestselling books had enabled her to buy the eighteenth-century manor in the sixties. She had loved company and was legendary for her parties, held in the lush gardens or on the beach at the bottom of Seaholly Cove. It was Joan who’d left the house to Scarlett’s mother, Anna.

Scarlett, her parents, Marcus and his family all lived within ten miles of each other in Birmingham, although their busy lives meant they didn’t get together as often as they probably ought to. As a rule, their father wasn’t a great one for parties but he’d always been happy to make the journey to Cornwall to spend the holidays with his family.

Scarlett was also particularly looking forward to enjoying some time with her sister, who at thirty-eight was six years her senior. After spending most of her life travelling all over the world while working in bars and cafés, Ellie had moved into the manor in the early autumn as ‘caretaker’. Scarlett was amazed how quickly she’d settled into Porthmellow life after her globetrotting lifestyle. Since returning to the UK, Ellie had found work as ship’s cook with Porthmellow Sailing Trust and helped out at the Harbour Café.

The previous year had brought big changes for Scarlett too, and not in a happy way. She’d broken up with her ex, Rafa, which had knocked her confidence where dating was concerned, and she hadn’t dated anyone since. The split was followed by the loss of a major client from the freelance copywriting business she’d built up over the past few years. Scarlett had written the copy for a large engineering company who made all kinds of screws and fasteners, and while it was hardly glamorous, they gave her a lot of work, from their website to press releases. However the company had been taken over by a giant American corporation who’d made lots of people redundant and slashed their budget, meaning she was having to fight hard to find new business in very uncertain times.

So she was trying hard to stay positive that New Year and a happy Christmas, surrounded by the family she loved, would kick off the fresh start.

Ellie walked in from the kitchen, a grin on her freckled face. ‘Woo hoo! I’ve got a surprise for you.’

She handed Scarlett a glass of something that looked like a Minion who had been put through the blender. ‘Here you go. Have a sniff of this.’

Scarlett wrinkled her nose. ‘What is it?’

‘Heidi’s homemade eggnog,’ said Ellie.

‘Heidi made eggnog?’ Scarlett exclaimed.

‘Shh, she might hear you,’ Ellie said, smirking all the same.

‘I’m just amazed that Healthy Heidi would even think of touching anything alcoholic, especially when mixed with eggs.’

‘She says it’s healthier than the commercial variety, packed with protein, and she’s added some secret ingredients.’

Scarlett pulled a face. ‘Like what?’ She put the glass to her lips.

‘Powdered kelp.’

Scarlett swallowed a gulp of the yellow liquid and gagged. ‘Yeugh.’

Ellie sipped hers and pulled a face. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’

‘Truly horrible, but I don’t want to hurt Heidi’s feelings. Can we chuck it in a plant pot?’ Scarlett headed for a large aspidistra in the corner of the room.

‘I don’t think so. It might not soak into the soil and the plant will probably wilt on the spot. Quick, open the French doors.’

Scarlett took both glasses and stepped into the garden. The contrast in temperature with the cosy house made her chest tighten. Overnight, a cold front had blown in, coating the flagstones with a film of sleet. Her bunny slippers weren’t ideal for venturing too far so she quickly threw the eggnog into a flowerbed and hurried back inside.

‘Brrr. So much for this being the Cornish Riviera. Look at my bunny slippers.’ She held up a foot to Ellie.

Ellie laughed. ‘They are a bit soggy. Let me put them in front of the fire, while you get the laptop ready.’

‘Thanks. You know … I’m starting to have cold feet in other ways. I’m a bit nervous now it’s come to the crunch.’

‘It’ll be fine,’ Ellie said, placing the damp slippers on the hearth tiles.

Even though all three of the Latham children were the wrong side of thirty, their parents still gave them stockings, although the ‘fillers’ had long since ceased to fit inside the actual stockings. They always contained small bottles of posh ‘smellies’, the latest book by their favourite author, chocolates and a ‘silly’ gift. This year everyone had received a pair of novelty slippers – even Marcus, who had groaned when he’d opened a pair of size eleven badger slippers.

Ellie was wearing fleecy alpacas, while Scarlett’s feet were cocooned in the fluffy rabbits. They were ridiculously impractical and probably lethal on the polished boards of Seaholly Manor, but wasn’t that the point of a stocking present? It had to be fun and, above all, silly. It was a stark contrast to Marcus and Heidi’s gift – a subscription to a health and fitness magazine and app.

‘I know you both want to turn over a new leaf,’ Heidi had said, with a dazzling smile. ‘But perhaps not today.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Even I’ll be relaxing my regime. Might even treat myself to a smidge of Christmas pud. After all, we can work off all the fat and sugar with some hill training on our run along the coastal path tomorrow, can’t we, Marcus?’

Marcus had almost snorted his Bailey’s onto the rug. ‘Um … Maybe not in these, eh, Heidi?’ He held up his badger-clad feet and everyone had laughed. Even Heidi had managed a titter before remarking,

‘Perhaps not, but you can definitely try out your new Christmas trainers tomorrow, darling.’

As Marcus sought refuge in the Good Beer Guide that Scarlett had given him, Scarlett hugged her sister-in-law. Over Heidi’s shoulder, she and her father had exchanged a knowing glance. He was now the proud owner of a Fitbit, whether he wanted to be or not.

‘Thank you, Heidi – and Marcus. I’m sure I’ll be very grateful for the subscription in the new year,’ Scarlett said. ‘Aren’t you going to try on your piglet slippers? Mum and Dad spent ages choosing an animal to suit each of us. The piglet was my idea,’ she said brightly. ‘Fabulous, aren’t they?’

Heidi’s eyes narrowed behind her forced smile. ‘Hilarious … but what made you think a piglet was appropriate?’

‘Well, you know, you’re so not a pig, are you? You’re so slim and healthy and you never pig out …’ Scarlett back-pedalled frantically. ‘And, um, a piglet is very cute. And pink.’

‘Cute and pink?’ Heidi raised her perfectly arched brows.

Marcus glanced up from his book. ‘I’d like to know whose idea it was to make me a badger.’

‘Dad’s, I think,’ Scarlett said, moving to her father’s side and perching on the arm of the chair next to him. ‘Wasn’t it, Dad?’

Roger waggled his feet. ‘I shouldn’t take offence, Heidi,’ he said wryly. ‘At least you’re not an elephant like me.’

‘That’s something, I suppose,’ Heidi muttered, eyeing the pink furry footwear with disdain before brightening up. ‘Now, does anyone want to try my healthy Christmas cocktail? I got it from an Instarecipe and it’s a superfoods version.’

Scarlett rubbed her hands together, trying to mollify her sister-in-law. ‘Luvverly. Sounds delish.’

‘In that case, I’ll pour you an extra large one,’ said Heidi, and scooted off to the kitchen.

As well as the stockings, their parents had given Ellie a tiny model Porsche along with some cash to help get her ancient car repaired. Scarlett had already received a contribution towards the new laptop she was now setting up next to the TV in the sitting room. They were very thoughtful presents, even Heidi’s – she probably thought she was helping to save her sisters-in-law from a whole raft of health problems caused by addiction to Bombay Sapphire and Hotel Chocolat.

At least, Scarlett thought, she hadn’t received A Self-Help Guide to Dating and Relationships, although it might have come in handy, considering her lack of progress since she’d split with Rafa. He’d been dark and handsome in the best Spanish tradition, a keen triathlete and a tennis player like his namesake. Maybe Heidi was hinting that Scarlett should take more exercise than the regular group swim sessions she enjoyed at her local ‘baths’ in Birmingham, although Scarlett went to the class as much for the social side as the workout.

There was one thing for sure. She had no intention of taking the plunge while in Cornwall. A toe-dip in the waters the day before had proved that was out of the question. These folk who did Boxing Day swims were barking, she’d decided.

Ellie opened the bottle of crème caramel liqueur that Scarlett had given her and topped up the empty eggnog glasses.

Scarlett connected the cable from the computer to the TV, surprised to find her fingers fumbling with the connectors. She was used to giving client presentations when pitching for a copywriting project but now the moment had come, she was nervous. She’d held onto the secret for over two months now and the suspense was killing her. It seemed like forever since she’d come down to Cornwall bearing the small box that had arrived from TreeFynder, a DNA testing company and ancestry website.

It had been Scarlett’s idea to arrange the test, which had been billed on the site as ‘The Ultimate Family Christmas Gift’. Her father, a retired civil engineer, had an interest in history and had often joked that the Lathams had Viking heritage. Marcus had often mentioned he’d be interested in finding out more too. It had seemed like the perfect celebration of the Latham family’s close bonds and an entertaining way to spend Christmas Day. She and Ellie had both agreed that Auntie Joan, who’d loved her extended family dearly, would have been delighted at the gift.

Admittedly, the initial DNA test had been slightly gross. Scarlett and Ellie had had to spit into a pot and the test had required a surprising amount of saliva. She recalled the two of them standing in this very room all those weeks ago, reading the instructions with a mix of excitement and disgust.

‘Can you imagine Auntie Joan’s face, if she’d known we were spitting in her sitting room?’ Scarlett had asked.

Ellie had laughed and held up the pot. ‘Maybe we should rename it the spitting room.’

The results had taken about four weeks to arrive. The pots had gone off to TreeFynder.com and the results were posted online. They would reveal Scarlett and Ellie’s heritage and be linked to other people around the world who shared their DNA, if they were registered with the same company.

It had taken everything for Scarlett not to look at the report, but it seemed like cheating if she knew the outcome ahead of everyone else, so she managed to restrain herself. She’d know everything in a few minutes, anyway.

‘Hey, you two.’ Her father, wearing a stripy apron, popped his head round the sitting room door. ‘Are you ready yet with this “big surprise”?’

Anna followed him into the room. Their mother’s face was red from the heat of the kitchen. ‘The suspense is killing us, isn’t it, Roger?’ she said. ‘And as everything’s under control in the kitchen for a bit, can we get it over with?’

Ellie nodded. ‘Yes. You can round up the troops, Dad, if you don’t mind.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s like herding cats, but I’ll do my best. What about the boys?’

‘Oh, you can leave them in the snug with their games,’ Scarlett said, aware that tearing the boys away from their Xboxes might be impossible anyway. ‘Thanks for coming all this way for Christmas.’

‘How could I miss it?’ He put his arm around her. ‘Especially with this big surprise you and Ellie have planned. You’ve been acting like a pair of kids for the past week. No idea what it is, though.’

‘All will be revealed any moment.’

A few minutes later, Roger managed to get everyone – except the twins – gathered in the sitting room with a glass of fizz in their hands. Six pairs of eyes turned on Scarlett in expectation.

Her parents were sharing the love seat, while Marcus and Heidi occupied the larger of the two sofas. Ellie was perched on the edge of the small sofa, a smile on her face. Only she knew what was coming. Now it came to the announcement, Scarlett had a momentary wobble. What if the gift was an anti-climax after all this build-up?

‘You’ve probably guessed that I’ve been up to something, and Ellie has been in on the surprise for a while. This present is especially for you, Mum, Dad and Marcus, but you’ll be interested too, Heidi.’

Her parents exchanged glances.

‘You’ll love it, Dad,’ Scarlett said, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘You know how you’ve always said you must be a Viking?’

‘Er … Yes …’ Her dad looked a little confused. A quiet, thoughtful man with an engineer’s precise mind, he wasn’t given to effusive outbursts. However, Scarlett was convinced he’d be totally fascinated by all the data and details uncovered by the test.

Marcus snorted. ‘What is this present? A custom-made helmet with horns?’

Heidi sniggered. ‘Not planning on pillaging Porthmellow, are you?’

Their mum frowned. ‘Am I the only one who’s confused?’

‘It’s not a helmet,’ said Scarlett. ‘It’s something even more exciting, and it’s for everyone. Now we’re going to find out if you really are a Viking, Dad. Ellie, are you set?’

‘Yup.’ Ellie held up her phone.

Scarlett tapped her keyboard and a page from the TreeFynder website appeared on the telly, complete with its tree logo and banner announcing:

Discover your roots with TreeFynder!

She cringed at the cheesy copy on the ancestry website. Privately, she’d have loved to rewrite it all and get a new design done – as with most websites – but that was for another day.

Marcus and her parents sat back, intent on the TV screen. Heidi crossed her legs and smiled. ‘Gosh, the suspense is killing me.’

‘All will become clear,’ Scarlett said dramatically, ignoring Heidi’s sarcasm but slightly disappointed by the baffled expressions of the rest of the family.

She logged on and the screen flashed up a message:

Congrats! Here is your Latham family tree!

‘A couple of months ago, Ellie and I decided to have our DNA tested, so we could find out our genetic roots, and we really will know if Dad’s a Viking.’

Marcus let out a whistle. ‘Now this is interesting. I’ve always wanted to do this.’

Re-sult, thought Scarlett in triumph. ‘Right. Deep breath, because neither Ellie nor I have looked at the results. We thought it would be more of a surprise for everyone that way.’

‘It’s been so hard not to check out the site,’ Ellie said.

‘Without further ado, now we find out who our ancestors were. Ta da!’ Scarlett declared and tapped her mouse pad. At the same time, Ellie clicked on her own results on her phone.

The silence could only have lasted a second or two, but it seemed far longer to Scarlett, already wound up to fever pitch after keeping the secret for so long.

Her mother spoke first. ‘Um. This is very exciting, I’m sure, but what does it all mean?’

Scarlett had spent so long on the TreeFynder site, learning how to interpret the potential results of the ancestry test, that she’d forgotten the figures and tables on the screen would mean nothing to anyone but her and Ellie. The actual findings were a complete surprise to her too, but she knew what they might mean in principle.

‘Well, both Ellie and I have had our DNA tested, which of course tells us about the rest of our relations and ancestors – and yours.’

‘Ah, I see.’ Marcus leaned forward.

‘How fascinating,’ Heidi muttered, picking up a magazine.

‘Obviously it doesn’t cover Heidi, but it will show the boys’ heritage too,’ Scarlett said, hoping to win Heidi over.

Heidi let the magazine rest in her lap, her attention caught at last.

‘Yes, can you please explain this to those of us still stuck in the Stone Age,’ her father said.

‘OK. Well, Ellie and I sent off a sample of our DNA to this ancestry site and these are the results of their analysis. This chart shows the areas of the world and types of people who are our ancestors. It says that I’m 60 per cent Iberian, 20 per cent Irish and 20 per cent other ethnicity. So – no Viking …’

Ellie held up her phone. ‘I am! Mine says I’m 70 per cent Scandinavian, 15 per cent Irish and 15 per cent other ethnicity.’

‘They’re very different. Is that normal?’ Marcus asked.

‘According to the guidelines, siblings can have very different genetic make-ups. Dad’s the Viking and Mum’s obviously the Mediterranean one. I have a different mix of Mum and Dad’s DNA to Ellie.’

‘That’s no surprise. You’ve always looked like Mum,’ said Marcus.

‘She certainly loves her Spanish holidays,’ her father said drily. ‘Now we know why.’

Their mother flashed a smile. ‘Which reminds me, I must go and check on the potatoes.’

Marcus, Ellie and Scarlett exchanged wide-eyed looks, wondering how potatoes could have anything to do with Spanish holidays.

Anna got up, holding the tea towel she’d carried in from the kitchen.

Ellie groaned. ‘Oh, don’t miss the best bit. The potatoes can wait, Mum.’

‘You won’t say that when you get a plate full of blackened lumps for lunch.’

‘I’ll check them,’ Heidi said, clearly looking for an excuse to get away from the family love-in. Actually, Scarlett didn’t blame her on this occasion and it might be less awkward if she wasn’t there.

‘Are you sure you can manage?’ Anna looked worried at the prospect of Heidi handling a tray of potatoes. ‘They are roasted in goose fat, you know …’

‘I’ll cope somehow.’ Heidi got up and patted her shoulder. ‘You enjoy your special present, Anna.’

Scarlett wasn’t sure if her sister-in-law was being sarcastic or not, but she let it drop. Their mum sat back down on the sofa, still clutching the tea towel.

‘Now, here’s the really exciting part …’ She hovered the cursor over the Find Relatives menu. ‘Who knows. We might find some long-lost second cousins on here. Maybe we’re related to royalty, like Danny Dyer is.’

Marcus groaned. ‘God, I hope not!’

Their father laughed.

‘I don’t think we’re in line for the throne, Dad, but – oh look, we have a first degree relative on the site,’ said Scarlett. ‘What a surprise. Not.’

‘That’ll be me, of course,’ said Ellie, clicking her phone. ‘Because we’re both registered on their database … Let’s take a look. Oh, yes … oh …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Oh.’

‘What?’ Scarlett asked.

‘I think I’ll go and help Heidi with the roasters.’ Their mother was halfway out of the door.

‘Mum, wait! Stay and see some more.’ Scarlett couldn’t conceal her disappointment. Then again, it was her father who loved history.

‘Sprouts need putting on!’ she shouted.

‘This early?’ Marcus laughed. ‘Come on, Ellie, show us this relative-finder thing.’

‘It, um … seems to have disappeared.’ Ellie held up a black phone screen and aimed a look at Scarlett. There was desperation in her eyes.

‘Don’t worry, I can get it up on the telly,’ said Scarlett, cheerfully.

‘Wait!’

Ellie’s cry was too late. The 72-inch screen flashed up a notification.

You have a half-sibling on TreeFynder.

Marcus dived on it like a hawk. ‘Half-sibling? What’s that supposed to mean?’

Ellie couldn’t suppress her gasp and exchanged a panicky glance with Scarlett. ‘That’s wrong. It’s not possible. We don’t have any half-siblings.’

‘It must mean sister or brother, of course,’ said their dad. ‘It can only refer to you and Ellie.’

It must refer to her and Ellie. Half-siblings. Scarlett went cold all over as the implications sank in like wet slush soaking through the bunny slippers. Ellie stared at her; lips pressed together. When Ellie had seen the results on her phone, she’d tried to stop Scarlett from sharing them with the rest of the family.

‘It must be a mistake. Let’s try again.’ Faking a sigh of exasperation, Scarlett refreshed the page, hoping against hope it would miraculously show a different answer. But a second later, it flashed up the same horrible phrase.

You have a half-sibling on TreeFynder.

The words leapt out at Scarlett and seared themselves on her brain. She felt sick.

Half-sibling.

Their father frowned at the screen. ‘I don’t understand—’

‘Scarlett’s right. There must have been a cock-up.’ Ellie got up and turned off the TV. ‘I think they’ve mixed up our DNA with someone else’s. It must happen a lot.’

‘I doubt it,’ Marcus said, ‘I’ve heard these labs are very accurate.’

‘Actually, I saw a programme that said there can be a big margin of error,’ Ellie declared. ‘Huge.’

‘Then why did you bother getting tested?’ Marcus said sharply, treating both of them to a glare.

‘Because we thought it would be fun …’ Scarlett said. ‘Didn’t we, Ellie? Dad’s always wanted to know if he has any Viking in him, and we thought it would be the perfect family present.’

‘Obviously, it isn’t,’ Marcus said, narrowing his eyes at Scarlett again.

‘Let’s not worry about it now. We’ll contact the site after Christmas and get our money back,’ Ellie said, then sniffed the air. ‘Hmm, what’s that amazing smell? I think dinner must be nearly ready.’

‘Mum’s only just put the sprouts on,’ Marcus muttered, his eyes straying to the laptop.

‘Shall I get us all another glass of Prosecco?’ Scarlett piped up, feeling as if she might throw up. She didn’t want Prosecco and had no idea how she was going to eat Christmas dinner.

‘But I don’t understand,’ their father insisted as Scarlett snatched up her laptop, intent on hiding it under her bed, as if that would make any difference at all to the results. The genie was out of the bottle now. Her hands were shaking.

‘If your DNA test says you and Ellie are half-siblings, what does it mean …’ Their father looked at them both. Scarlett hugged the laptop. Oh God, everything was becoming horrifyingly clear. Their mother’s lack of enthusiasm for the DNA test, slinking out of the room when they tried to find their relatives. Oh, Christ on a bike, what the hell had she unleashed on her family?

‘Nothing, because it’s a computer error or a mix-up in the lab. Don’t worry about it, Dad,’ said Ellie. ‘Blooming rip-off! For all we know, TreeFynder doesn’t even have a real lab and it’s a couple of kids with a chemistry set in their bedroom. Let’s forget it for now and have another drink. What do you all want?’

Their father nodded but seemed confused and quiet. Marcus, however, would not be silenced. ‘But I’m still confused about exactly what the results mean,’ he said insistently. Scarlett loved her brother, for all his faults, but at this moment would have happily wished him to evaporate.

‘Marcus. There’s no point having the conversation. Now, come on, let me get you a drink.’

As she looked at him, it hit her. Marcus and Ellie both had their father’s thick dark curly hair. Scarlett was fair. Her mum had light brown hair that the sun bleached in summer, but Scarlett was blonde all year round, and almost wheaten in the sunny months. Her hair was straight and easily tamed, which Ellie had always envied but Scarlett thought was a bit boring compared to Ellie’s bouncy curls. Her siblings had strong noses, ever so slightly ‘Roman’, according to Auntie Joan – which hadn’t amused Marcus, but had made Ellie burst out laughing and start muttering, ‘Hail, Great Caesar,’ to him.

As they’d grown older, Ellie and Marcus had changed but had always at some point resembled their dad. Scarlett never had.

If that test was accurate … Scarlett felt as if she was about to suffocate and her stomach clenched. She had to get out, or she might be sick, but Heidi blocked the doorway, her hands still in oven gauntlets. She’d obviously been there much longer than they’d realised.

‘I’m sure this is all a mistake, Roger,’ she said, looking at their father with pity. ‘Because if that test is accurate, it means that Ellie and Scarlett can’t possibly have the same father. One of them isn’t your daughter.’

Chapter Three
Nine months later October 1 2019

‘Ellie. Marcus here. I’m calling re: Christmas. I’ve got five mins between meetings so I thought I’d phone before you make any plans.’

Ellie’s heart sank at the mention of Christmas.

‘Hi, Marcus …’ Ellie could hear phones ringing in the background of her brother’s Birmingham office, in sharp contrast to the quiet of Seaholly Manor.

He launched in again, cutting her off.

‘It may only be the start of October, but you know Scarlett likes to organise us all. Or used to. It’s of no matter anyway, because we won’t be coming to the manor for Christmas. Although after last year’s catastrophe, I expect you’ve already worked that one out. I’m assuming that Mum and Dad won’t be there either.’

She held the phone away from her ear, trying to rein in her irritation. Finding out that their family wasn’t what they’d thought had been a hell of a shock for all of them, but Marcus had taken it very hard.

‘I don’t know what their plans are yet,’ she said patiently.

‘Whatever they decide to do – or not do – we definitely won’t be coming down to Cornwall. We’ve booked a skiing chalet in Courcheval with some friends and we leave on the twenty-seventh. Heidi thought it would be good for the boys to get some exercise instead of lazing about, and besides, they’re getting to the age where they’d rather be with their mates than hanging around with family in a draughty old house. And, to be honest, Heidi still hasn’t got over the trauma of last year. None of us have—’

‘Right …’ Ellie interrupted his flow. He sounded irritated and guilty and her own patience was running out as fast as sand in an egg timer. Which reminded her of last Christmas. Heidi’s face when Ellie had told her the eggnog tasted like sick. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

‘Um, Els … Have you seen Mum recently? I’ve been worried about her.’ Marcus’s clipped tone lost its edge, instantly taking Ellie back to the unsure younger brother she used to know. He did love their parents dearly and had been especially close to their mother. Marcus and his dad hadn’t always got on that well, but the bomb that Scarlett’s ‘Christmas gift’ had lobbed into that relationship had changed the dynamics.

Marcus was finding it hard to believe his mum had had an affair, and even harder to believe she wouldn’t admit to it. They all were, although Ellie’s priority was to support both parents in trying to save their marriage, which until eleven a.m. last Christmas Day, had appeared to be long and happy. Scarlett had been and still was devastated and since then, Ellie had had to set aside her own feelings of shock and disbelief to support the others as best she could. Privately, however, she’d spent many sleepless nights worrying about its devastating effects on her family.

‘Ellie?’

‘Not since she came to stay a couple of weeks ago. I’ve spoken to her on the phone plenty of times. She called me from work. I’ve spoken to Dad, too.’

‘And? Have they come to any decisions?’

‘Not yet. They’re still sleeping in separate rooms from what I can work out. Scarlett paid them a visit a couple of days ago.’

‘I’m surprised they let her in the house!’

‘Dad invited her … but Mum was there too. Marcus, how many times do I have to tell you that this mess isn’t Scarlett’s fault?’

‘I know it’s not totally her fault, obviously, but if she’d never bought that bloody test kit, none of this would have happened. She does have a tendency to put her foot in it, ever since she was a kid.’

‘Don’t blame Scarlett. This whole thing has hurt her more than anyone.’

‘She’s still not speaking to Mum, then?’

‘Not really. She still sees Dad and phones him, but I don’t think she and Mum are on speaking terms.’ Ellie wasn’t sure just how the revelations had changed Scarlett’s relationship with their father, but she wasn’t going to complicate things by voicing that to Marcus.

‘Humph.’

‘Marcus?’

‘I still say that the test was wrong.’

‘What? Both of them?’ Ellie replied, shuddering at the memory of Scarlett’s fresh disappointment when they took a private DNA test that proved she was ‘only’ Ellie’s half-sister. Their mother had been angry and hurt but continued to insist there had to be a mistake.

‘I wish none of this had ever happened. If Mum did – you know, with another bloke – then why won’t she admit it?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s obviously a deeply painful experience for her as well as the rest of us. Until, and if, Mum is willing to share the truth, how can you expect Scarlett – and Dad – to start understanding and forgiving her? We don’t know any of the circumstances.’

‘I suppose not …’ Marcus said grudgingly. Ellie hated to see the turmoil the family was going through, but as the eldest, she felt obliged to try and keep the peace. Her travels over the years had also, she admitted, given her a slight distance – and a fresh perspective on family life. She’d seen a lot of unusual family set-ups while she’d worked and lived all over the world, enough to remind her that no one’s circumstances were ever as smooth as they might appear.

The old grandfather clock struck the half hour, startling Ellie.

‘Marcus. Can we talk about this later, please?’ she asked. ‘I have to go to work. Someone’s off sick at the café and they want me for the lunch service.’

‘The café? I thought you were working on a yacht.’

‘It’s a vintage sailing trawler actually, but it’s the end of the season so I’m only helping in the office two days a week. I’ve started doing some shifts in the Harbour Café again.’

He huffed. ‘Oh, well, I suppose you need a bit of money for extras and stuff. Lucky you don’t have to pay a mortgage or rent.’

‘Mum and Dad seem OK with the arrangement at the moment, and they’ve got enough on their plate without worrying about whether or not to sell this place. It’s not good to leave old houses like this empty, especially over the winter. I’m keeping the place safe and secure until they decide what to do with it, and I’m doing the garden and small maintenance jobs.’ Which took up a lot of her time, she could have added, not that Marcus would realise, because he didn’t know one end of a screwdriver from another.

‘They can’t even decide whether they want to stay married, so I shouldn’t hold your breath. Although if they do get a divorce, they’ll have to sell the manor and you’ll have to move out.’

‘Sorry. What was that?’ Ellie held the phone at arm’s length, fuming quietly that her attempts to soothe him had obviously failed. ‘I can’t hear you, the signal’s really bad down here.’ She heard his tinny voice say something about ‘being prepared for the worst’ then banged the handset on the hall table. ‘Oh no! Damn! I’ve lost you. Speak soon!’

She hung up.

Swearing under her breath, Ellie scooped up her car keys from the hall table. With a bit of luck, Marcus would be too wrapped up in his waste-management meeting to remember he’d called her landline.

As she drove, she thought back on her conversation with Marcus – it had renewed her worries about everyone involved, especially Scarlett. While Marcus had gone into a similar path of denial to their mother, choosing to blame Ellie and Scarlett for opening up a can of worms, Scarlett had taken the opposite and perhaps more understandable route: retreating from their mum and blaming her. Ellie understood this, even if she thought it wouldn’t help the rifts to heal any faster, or encourage their mum to open up. Not only did Scarlett have to cope with the turmoil of their parents’ estrangement, she also had to come to terms with finding out that her dad wasn’t her biological father. Scarlett couldn’t even begin to do that while their mother refused to be honest with them.

At least Ellie’s work at the bustling Harbour Café, with its cheerful boss and quirky clientele, kept her mind off her problems for a while. She loved Porthmellow in all its moods, even on a foggy autumn evening such as this, with mist wreathing around the old clock tower and the waves slip-slopping against the harbour walls. With its cosy beamed interior, the café was at the heart of village life; bustling with locals and visitors from breakfast till teatime.

Twilight was falling by the time she walked out of the old building onto the quayside. It was almost completely dark when she reached the dead-end lane that followed a stream down one side of the steep valley to Seaholly Manor and then the tiny cove itself.

The bare branches of the trees lining the cove lane were spidery in the gloom. Some people might have found the manor spooky on their own, but Ellie had spent nights in some ‘interesting’ places around the world and ghosts didn’t bother her. In fact, she wouldn’t have minded a chat with Auntie Joan again, bless her. Ellie hadn’t seen her that often, but it was enough to miss her witty, sharp conversations and anecdotes about famous authors. Joan had never been shy about relating her romantic adventures either. Their mother would probably have been horrified to hear what she’d shared once the girls were over eighteen. Even before then, they’d delighted in reading her novels, especially the ones in black and red covers that were written under another name that Joan kept in a chest in her room and didn’t think they knew about.

Seaholly Manor had so many happy associations that Ellie felt she could never be afraid there. It was also unlikely that anyone would find their way down to the manor by accident, as it wasn’t signposted from the road. Unless the burglars had a thing for first editions and filthy fiction, there was nothing worth nicking anyway. Still, on such a gloomy night, she was looking forward to getting inside and making up the fire before phoning Scarlett to see if she was OK.

The road levelled out and narrowed over the last few hundred yards to the manor. From nowhere, a shadow darted out from the bushes and across the road.

Ellie let out a cry and swerved to avoid the fox. A heartbeat later, there was a bang as the car slammed against the hedgerow. The seatbelt tightened across her chest and there was only silence.

It took a few seconds for Ellie to get her breath back. Gingerly, she flexed her wrists and hands and waited for any stabs of pain in her neck or back. The seatbelt had done its job, which was why she was out of breath, but otherwise she seemed to be OK. The car, however, probably wasn’t. That sickening crash hadn’t been the sound of metal hitting mere twigs. Like many Cornish hedgerows, this one had an earthen bank, reinforced with stones, at its heart.

The vehicle was at an angle, so she was able to open the door and swing her legs onto the tarmac. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, the road lit only by a sliver of moon appearing now and then from behind the clouds.

She shone her phone torch on the front of the car. The bonnet was warped and the bumper was crumpled and pushed back into the engine.

‘Oh f-f—’ It looked pretty bad and she already guessed that the insurance company would write it off. That was all she needed. She also had the problem of what to do next, because she doubted it was driveable. She’d have to call out the local garage to tow it, if she could get hold of them. She was blocking the road too, not that anyone else was likely to use it.

The car wouldn’t start, so she was about to phone the Porthmellow Garage when she heard the low rumble of another vehicle coming down the lane. Two headlights wavered in the gloom and her heart sank further.

They belonged to a Ford Transit of the kind Scarlett loved to call a ‘kidnapper’s van’. Hairs stood up on the back of Ellie’s neck and she prepared to jump into the Fiesta and lock the doors. It stopped a few feet away, the door opened and a man got out. She didn’t recognise him but she knew one thing: he cut an unnerving figure in the dark. He was over six feet, wearing a black leather jacket and built like the proverbial brick outhouse.

She debated whether to jump inside while she had the chance, but told herself to be sensible and assume he had a rational explanation for being on the lane. A wrong turn in the fog was surely more likely than him looking for people to abduct?

‘Hello. Are you OK?’ he called as he approached. His accent wasn’t broad, but more importantly, his tone was concerned. Ellie let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

‘Yes. My car isn’t though. I swerved because of a fox … It was instinct. That’s why I’m blocking the road.’

‘That doesn’t matter, as long as you’re not hurt. You’re sure you’re all right?’

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Ellie gave him a closer look. ‘Did you take a wrong turning down here in the fog? Porthmellow’s the next road.’

He smiled. ‘No, I meant to drive down here. I’m Aaron Carman. I’ve just moved into Cove Cottage.’

‘Really? I had no idea …You weren’t there yesterday when I went for a walk on the beach.’ And no one had told her that a man was moving into the only other house for a mile around, and she’d have expected to hear about it on the Porthmellow grapevine. ‘I’m Ellie Latham. I live at the manor house,’ she added.

‘Pleased to meet you, Ellie, but not under these circumstances. Actually, I only moved in late last night. I brought my own stuff in the van. I don’t have much.’ He tutted loudly at the Fiesta. ‘Your car could be a write-off, you know.’

‘I know.’ She gritted her teeth.

‘That’s a shame. Would you like me to help you shift it to the manor?’

Ellie was more aware than ever that she was alone in the dark with a complete stranger offering to come to her house. On the other hand, it would be a lot simpler than calling out the garage in Porthmellow after hours.

‘Um …’

‘It’s no trouble,’ he said, moving closer and resting his hand on the bonnet.

Ellie looked up at him and a light bulb flashed in her brain. Those handsome features, the light brown skin, his upright bearing … ‘Did you say you were called Aaron Carman?’

‘Yes. Why? Has my bad reputation preceded me down here?’

Ellie smiled, despite her predicament. She felt on safer ground now. ‘No. The opposite, in fact. You must be Troy and Evie’s son? I’d no idea you were moving into the cottage. I thought you were in the army.’

He smiled. ‘I was, but I’m out now. Long story. Now, come on, why don’t you let me help you with the car?’

Her feeling of relief from knowing Aaron was unlikely to be a serial killer was followed by the minor irritation that he thought she couldn’t handle the situation. ‘It might be difficult getting it to start at all. Do you know anything about cars?’

‘A bit. I was in charge of a tank-mechanic engineering squad in the army until recently. I’ve dug armoured vehicles out of ditches, so I think I might be able to get your Fiesta down to the manor.’

‘Oh. OK …’ Ellie silently cursed herself for underestimating him but also realised she was in no position to refuse his help. ‘In that case, I’d really appreciate it. Thanks.’

Aaron helped her push the car off the road and then fetched a rope from the van before moving it ahead of the Fiesta. In no time, with Ellie at the wheel, he’d towed her the few hundred yards to the manor.

She unlocked the door and stood in the hall with him. The lights revealed him in his full glory. Though he had to be in his mid-forties, he was still a very good-looking guy, with an easy-going confidence that sat well with his military bearing. She could also see the resemblance to his mother, Evie, who lived in the town and was on the festival committee.

‘I’ll call the garage in the morning,’ she said, wondering what to say next. She didn’t want to seem forward but also felt she should thank him in some way. ‘Erm, would you like to come in for a coffee, or are you too busy unpacking?’

‘I’m not too busy for a coffee. Thanks. Better wash my hands first, though.’

‘Me too.’ She held up her grubby palms. ‘There’s a cloakroom here off the hall and that’s the sitting room opposite. Make yourself at home. I’ll be back with the coffee in a minute.’

Now the adrenaline of dealing with the accident was wearing off, Ellie was calming down. She scrubbed her own hands in the scullery sink and then made a pot of strong coffee. She really felt like having a whisky with it but decided against it.

A few minutes later, she was sitting opposite Aaron, both of them cradling mugs. He’d poured liberal amounts of hot milk into his and added a spoon of sugar. He certainly didn’t need to watch his diet, Ellie thought, hardly able to take her eyes off his impressive physique. There was no way that anyone would fit on the love seat beside him. He must have been six foot three at least, and she could hardly miss the breadth of his thighs or the width of his shoulders especially now he’d taken off his jacket and laid it neatly on the back of a chair. Every time he moved, some muscle or other rippled.

He sipped his coffee and smiled. ‘You know, I was a bit worried about stopping on the lane in the dark.’

Ellie laughed, slightly nervously, as she recalled her initial reaction to him. ‘Why? Did you think I might be a serial killer?’

He chuckled. ‘No, I thought you might think I was. I can come as a bit of a shock to some people.’

You can say that again, thought Ellie. ‘I should have recognised your name at once. Your mum has mentioned you to me before but I was a bit shaken by the bump. How long have you been out of the army?’

‘Not that long. I left a couple of months ago but recently decided to move here. I’m starting a new business … I’m my own boss. Do you know my mum and dad well?’

‘A bit. I’ve got to know them better since I’ve been involved in the Winter Solstice Festival. Evie and Troy are on the committee, as I’m sure you know.’

‘You’ll never get away now. It’s all I hear about from them. Have you lived here long?’

‘Only since last autumn. This isn’t my house. It belongs to my parents but I’m caretaker until they decide what to do with it. Maybe your mum mentioned it?’ she asked, wondering how much gossip there was about her parents’ situation. She’d told her boss at the café and a couple of colleagues at the sailing trust and there was bound to have been talk about the row that resulted in Scarlett’s dramatic entrance at the pub on Christmas Day.

‘I only hear the gossip Mum tells me in her emails and letters. A lot of it means nothing to me, but Mum loves keeping me up to date so I was always happy to hear it. Since I’ve come home, she’s had a field day with all the latest Porthmellow scandal.’

Ellie wondered if he did know about the Lathams but was too polite to say as much. ‘Your mum’s lovely. So funny and kind. She must have missed you very much while you were away.’

‘Maybe more than she’d let on. I joined up when I was eighteen and I’ve spent most of my time in REME.’