Kitabı oku: «Sunrise at Butterfly Cove»

This one is for my mum.

Prologue

October 2014

‘And the winner of the 2014 Martindale Prize for Best New Artist is…’

Daniel Fitzwilliams lounged back in his chair and took another sip from the never-emptying glass of champagne. His bow tie hung loose around his neck, and the first two buttons of his wing-collar shirt had been unfastened since just after the main course had been served. The room temperature hovered somewhere around the fifth circle of hell and he wondered how much longer he would have to endure the fake smiles and shoulder pats from strangers passing his table.

The MC made a big performance of rustling the large silver envelope in his hand. ‘Get on with it, mate,’ Daniel muttered. His agent, Nigel, gave him a smile and gulped at the contents of his own glass. His nomination had been a huge surprise and no-one expected him to win, Daniel least of all.

‘Well, well.’ The MC adjusted his glasses and peered at the card he’d finally wrestled free. ‘I am delighted to announce that the winner of the Martindale Prize is Fitz, for his series “Interactions”.’

A roar of noise from the rest of his tablemates covered the choking sounds of Nigel inhaling half a glass of champagne. Daniel’s own glass slipped from his limp fingers and rolled harmlessly under the table. ‘Bugger me.’

‘Go on, mate. Get up there!’ His best friend, Aaron, rounded the table and tugged Daniel to his feet. ‘I told you, I bloody told you, but you wouldn’t believe me.’

Daniel wove his way through the other tables towards the stage, accepting handshakes and kisses from all sides. Will Spector, the bookies’ favourite and the art crowd’s latest darling, raised a glass in toast and Daniel nodded to acknowledge his gracious gesture. Flashbulbs popped from all sides as he mounted the stairs to shake hands with the MC. He raised the sinuous glass trophy and blinked out at the clapping, cheering crowd of his peers.

The great and the good were out in force. The Martindale attracted a lot of press coverage and the red-carpet winners and losers would be paraded across the inside pages for people to gawk at over their morning cereal. His mum had always loved to see the celebrities in their posh frocks. He just wished she’d survived long enough to see her boy come good. Daniel swallowed around the lump in his throat. Fuck cancer. Dad had at least made it to Daniel’s first exhibition, before his heart failed and he’d followed his beloved Nancy to the grave.

Daniel adjusted the microphone in front of him and waited for the cheers to subside. The biggest night of his life, and he’d never felt lonelier.

***

Mia Sutherland resisted the urge to check her watch and tried to focus on the flickering television screen. The latest episode of The Watcher would normally have no trouble in holding her attention—it was her and Jamie’s new favourite show. She glanced at the empty space on the sofa beside her. Even with the filthy weather outside, he should have been home before now. Winter had hit earlier than usual and she’d found herself turning the lights on mid-afternoon to try and dispel the gloom caused by the raging storm outside.

The ad break flashed upon the screen and she popped into the kitchen to give the pot of stew a quick stir. She’d given up waiting, and eaten her portion at eight-thirty, but there was plenty left for Jamie. He always said she cooked for an army rather than just the two of them.

A rattle of sleet struck the kitchen window and Mia peered through the Venetian blind covering it; he’d be glad of a hot meal after being stuck in the traffic for so long. A quick tap of the wooden spoon against the side of the pot, and then she slipped the cast-iron lid back on. The pot was part of the Le Creuset set Jamie’s parents had given them as a wedding gift and the matching pans hung from a wooden rack above the centre of the kitchen worktop. She slid the pot back into the oven and adjusted the temperature down a notch.

Ding-dong.

At last! Mia hurried down the hall to the front door and tugged it open with a laugh. ‘Did you forget your keys—’ A shiver of fear ran down her back at the sight of the stern-looking policemen standing on the step. Rain dripped from the brims of their caps and darkened the shoulders of their waterproof jackets.

‘Mrs Sutherland?’

No, no, no, no. Mia looked away from the sympathetic expressions and into the darkness beyond them for the familiar flash of Jamie’s headlights turning onto their small driveway.

‘Perhaps we could come in, Mrs Sutherland?’ The younger of the pair spoke this time.

Go away. Go away. She’d seen this scene played out enough on the television to know what was coming next. ‘Please, come in.’ Her voice sounded strange, high-pitched and brittle to her ears. She stepped back to let the two men enter. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

The younger officer took off his cap and shrugged out of his jacket. ‘Why don’t you point me in the direction of the kettle and you and Sergeant Stone can make yourselves comfortable in the front room?’

Mia stared at the Sergeant’s grim-set features. What a horrible job he has, poor man. ‘Yes, of course. Come on through.’

She stared at the skin forming on the surface of her now-cold tea. She hadn’t dared to lift the cup for fear they would see how badly she was shaking. ‘Is there someone you’d like us to call?’ PC Taylor asked, startling her. The way he phrased the question made her wonder how many times he’d asked before she’d heard him. I’d like you to call my husband.

Mia bit her lip against the pointless words, and ran through a quick inventory in her head. Her parents would be useless; it was too far past cocktail hour for her mother to be coherent and her dad didn’t do emotions well at the best of times.

Her middle sister, Kiki, had enough on her hands with the new baby and Matty determined to live up to every horror story ever told about the terrible twos. Had it only been last week she and Jamie had babysat Matty because the baby had been sick? An image of Jamie holding their sleeping nephew in his lap rose unbidden and she shook her head sharply to dispel it. She couldn’t think about things like that. Not right then.

The youngest of her siblings, Nee, was neck-deep in her final year at art school in London. Too young and too far away to be shouldering the burden of her eldest sister’s grief. The only person she wanted to talk to was Jamie and that would never happen again. Bile burned in her throat and a whooping sob escaped before she could swallow it back.

‘S-sorry.’ She screwed her eyes tight and stuffed everything down as far as she could. There would be time enough for tears. Opening her stinging eyes, she looked at Sergeant Stone. ‘Do Bill and Pat know?’

‘Your in-laws? They’re next on our list. I’m so very sorry, pet. Would you like us to take you over there?’

Unable to speak past the knot in her throat, Mia nodded.

Chapter One

February 2016

Daniel rested his head on the dirty train window and stared unseeing at the landscape as it flashed past. He didn’t know where he was going. Away. That was the word that rattled around his head. Anywhere, nowhere. Just away from London. Away from the booze, birds and fakery of his so-called celebrity lifestyle. Twenty-nine felt too young to be a has-been.

He’d hit town with a portfolio, a bundle of glowing recommendations and an ill-placed confidence in his own ability to keep his feet on the ground. Within eighteen months, he was the next big thing in photography and everyone who was anyone clamoured for an original Fitz image on their wall. Well-received exhibitions had led to private commissions and more money than he knew what to do with. And if it hadn’t been for Aaron’s investment advice, his bank account would be as drained as his artistic talent.

The parties had been fun at first, and he couldn’t put his finger on when the booze had stopped being a buzz and started being a crutch. Girls had come and gone. Pretty, cynical women who liked being seen on his arm in the gossip columns, and didn’t seem to mind being in his bed.

Giselle had been one such girl and without any active consent on his part, she’d installed herself as a permanent fixture. The bitter smell of the French cigarettes she lived on in lieu of a decent meal filled his memory, forcing Daniel to swallow convulsively against the bile in his throat. That smell signified everything he hated about his life, about himself. Curls of rank smoke had hung like fog over the sprawled bodies, spilled bottles and overflowing ashtrays littering his flat when he’d woven a path through them that morning.

The cold glass of the train window eased the worst of his thumping hangover, although no amount of water seemed able to ease the parched feeling in his throat. The carriage had filled, emptied and filled again, the ebb and flow of humanity reaching their individual destinations.

Daniel envied their purpose. He swigged again from the large bottle of water he’d paid a small fortune for at Paddington Station as he’d perused the departures board. The taxi driver he’d flagged down near his flat had told him Paddington would take him west, a part of England that he knew very little about, which suited him perfectly.

His first instinct had been to head for King’s Cross, but that would have taken him north. Too many memories, too tempting to visit old haunts his Mam and Dad had taken him to. It would be sacrilege to their memory to tread on the pebbled beaches of his youth, knowing how far he’d fallen from being the man his father had dreamed he would become.

He’d settled upon Exeter as a first destination. Bristol and Swindon seemed too industrial, too much like the urban sprawl he wanted to escape. And now he was on a local branch line train to Orcombe Sands. Sands meant the sea. The moment he’d seen the name, he knew it was where he needed to be. Air he could breathe, the wind on his face, nothing on the horizon but whitecaps and seagulls.

The train slowed and drew to a stop as it had done numerous times previously. Daniel didn’t stir; the cold window felt too good against his clammy forehead. He was half aware of a small woman rustling an enormous collection of department store carrier bags as she carted her shopping haul past his seat, heading towards the exit. She took a couple of steps past him before she paused and spoke.

‘This is the end of the line, you know?’ Her voice carried a warm undertone of concern and Daniel roused. The thump in his head increased, making him frown as he regarded the speaker. She was an older lady, around the age his Mam would’ve been had she still been alive.

Her grey hair was styled in a short, modern crop and she was dressed in that effortlessly casual, yet stylish look some women had. A soft camel jumper over dark indigo jeans with funky bright red trainers on her feet. A padded pea jacket and a large handbag worn cross body, keeping her hands free to manage her shopping bags. She smiled brightly at Daniel and tilted her head towards the carriage doors, which were standing stubbornly open.

‘This is Orcombe Sands. Pensioner jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred pounds.’ She laughed at her own joke and Daniel finally realised what she was telling him. He had to get off the train; this was his destination. She was still watching him expectantly so he cleared his throat.

‘Oh, thanks. Sorry I was miles away.’ He rose as he spoke, unfurling his full height as the small woman stepped back to give him room to stand and tug his large duffel bag from the rack above his seat. Seemingly content that Daniel was on the move, the woman gave him a cheery farewell and disappeared off the train.

Adjusting the bag on his shoulder as he looked around, Daniel perused the layout of the station for the first time. The panoramic sweep of his surroundings didn’t take long. The tiny waiting room needed a lick of paint, but the platform was clean of the rubbish and detritus that had littered the central London station he’d started his journey at several hours previously. A hand-painted, slightly lopsided Exit sign pointed his way and Daniel moved in the only direction available to him, hoping to find some signs of life and a taxi rank.

He stopped short in what he supposed was the main street and regarded the handful of houses and a pub, which was closed up tight on the other side of the road. He looked to his right and regarded a small area of hardstanding with a handful of cars strewn haphazardly around.

The February wind tugged hard at his coat and he flipped the collar up, hunching slightly to keep his ears warm.

Daniel started to regret his spur-of-the-moment decision to leave town. He’d been feeling stale for a while, completely lacking in inspiration. Every image he framed in his mind’s eye seemed either trite or derivative. All he’d ever wanted to do was take photographs. From the moment his parents had given him his first disposable camera to capture his holiday snaps, Daniel had wanted to capture the world he saw through his viewfinder.

An engine grumbled to life and the noise turned Daniel’s thoughts outwards again as a dirty estate car crawled out of the car park and stopped in front of him. The side window lowered and the woman from the train leant across from the driver’s side to speak to him.

‘You all right there? Is someone coming to pick you up?’ Daniel shuffled his feet slightly under the blatantly interested gaze of the older woman.

His face warmed as he realised he would have to confess his predicament to the woman. He had no idea where he was or what his next move should be. He could tell from the way she was regarding him that she would not leave until she knew he was going to be all right.

‘My trip was a bit spur-of-the-moment. Do you happen to know if there is a B&B nearby?’ he said, trying to keep his voice light, as though heading off into the middle of nowhere on a freezing winter’s day was a completely rational, normal thing to do.

The older woman widened her eyes slightly. ‘Not much call for that this time of year. Just about everywhere that offers accommodation is seasonal and won’t be open until Easter time.’

Daniel started to feel like an even bigger fool as the older woman continued to ponder his problem, her index finger tapping against her lip. The finger paused as a sly smile curled one corner of her lip and Daniel wondered if he should be afraid of whatever thought had occurred to cause that expression.

He took a backwards step as the woman suddenly released her seat belt and climbed out of the car in a determined manner. He was not intimidated by someone a foot shorter than him. He wasn’t.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked as she flipped open the boot of the car and started transferring her shopping bags onto the back seat.

‘Fitz…’ He paused. That name belonged in London, along with everything else he wanted to leave behind. ‘Daniel. Daniel Fitzwilliams.’

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Madeline although my friends call me Mads and I have a feeling we will be great friends. Stick your bag in the boot, there’s a good lad. I know the perfect place. Run by a friend of mine. I’m sure you’ll be very happy there.’

Daniel did as bid, his eyes widening in shock as unbelievable! Madeline propelled him in the right direction with a slap on the arse and a loud laugh.

‘Bounce a coin on those cheeks, Daniel! I do so like a man who takes care of himself.’ With another laugh, Madeline disappeared into the front seat of the car and the engine gave a slightly startled whine as she turned the key.

Gritting his teeth, he placed his bag in the boot before moving around to the front of the car and eyeing the grubby interior of the estate, which appeared to be mainly held together with mud and rust. He folded his frame into the seat, which had been hiked forward almost as far as it could. With his knees up around his ears, Daniel fumbled under the front of the seat until he found the adjuster and carefully edged the seat back until he felt less like a sardine.

‘Belt up, there’s a good boy,’ Madeline trilled as she patted his knee and threw the old car into first. They lurched away from the kerb. Deciding that a death grip was the only way to survive, Daniel quickly snapped his seat belt closed, scrabbled for the aptly named oh shit! handle above the window and tried to decide whether the journey would be worse with his eyes open or closed.

Madeline barrelled the car blithely around the narrow country lanes, barely glancing at the road as far as Daniel could tell as she sang along to the latest pop tunes pouring from the car radio. He tried not to whimper at the thought of where he was going to end up. What the hell was this place going to be like if it was run by a friend of Madeline’s? If there was a woman in a rocking chair at the window, he’d be in deep shit.

The car abruptly swung off to the left and continued along what appeared to be a footpath rather than any kind of road. A huge building loomed to the left and Daniel caught his breath. Rather than the Bates Motel, it was more of a Grand Lady in her declining years. In its heyday, it must have been a magnificent structure. The peeling paint, filthy windows and rotting porch did their best to hide the beauty, together with the overgrown gardens.

His palms itched and for the first time in for ever, Daniel felt excited. He wanted his camera. Head twisting and turning, he tried to take everything in. A group of outbuildings and a large barn lay to the right of where Madeline pulled to a stop on the gravel driveway.

Giving a jaunty toot on the car’s horn, she wound down her window to wave and call across the yard to what appeared to be a midget yeti in the most moth-eaten dressing gown Daniel had ever seen. Not good, not good, oh so not good…

Chapter Two

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Mia lay on her back staring up at the large water stain on her bedroom ceiling. She squinted a little to try and work out if it looked bigger than the day before. There were many cautionary tales about money pits and impulse buys and buying sight unseen and Mia had disregarded every single one of them.

She’d thrown a large portion of her widow’s settlement into what she thought would be the perfect new start at Butterfly House. Her lip twisted at the romantic name attached to the monstrosity she now owned. Whoever had owned the place had a wild imagination to attach such a pretty name to the ugly old pile.

She couldn’t regret the purchase though, even if the reality had failed to live up to the romance of the name. Two years of inertia, surrounded by everything they had made together, their friends, their special places, had finally come to a head when she realised that she couldn’t remember a day when she hadn’t cried. She felt terrible, looked worse, and in her heart knew that Jamie would’ve hated it if he’d had any idea.

Not going there, not today… Mia gave herself a mental shake and contemplated leaving the cosy nest she had made in the middle of the double bed that dominated the small but airy room she had set aside for herself. Well she hoped it would be airy in the summer, but just now on a dank, cold February morning it was not that appealing.

Taking a deep breath, she slid her leg from beneath her flannel sheets and quickly drew it back as her toes touched the freezing cold floor. Where the hell were her slippers? Mia rolled to the side and peered over the edge of the mattress in the vain hope the slipper fairy had come through for once and left them helpfully by the bed. Nope, just cold boards still needing to be filled, sanded and waxed.

‘Bollocks,’ Mia huffed, wincing as her breath misted in the cold air.

With a mental count to three, she threw back the covers and dashed from the bed, swearing and hopping from foot to foot as she made her way across the cold floor and into the bathroom and the relative warmth of the bathmat. She grabbed her dressing gown from the hook behind the door and burrowed into it, turning her face instinctively into the collar to seek out an elusive hint of Jamie’s scent.

The man-sized garment swamped her; the sleeves were rolled back at the cuffs several times and still her hands only just peeked out. It dragged a little on the floor unless Mia hiked it up slightly with the belt from her old dressing gown. The fluffy pink belt clashed with the dark green tartan pattern but it did the job and there was no-one around to care about her bedroom attire.

She scrubbed her face until it glowed before cleaning her teeth vigorously in the hopes of generating a little extra body warmth. She spat and rinsed and then made the mistake of looking in the mirrored doors of the little cabinet above the sink. The problem with short hair, she mused, was that it just never looked good in the morning.

Wetting her hands, she made a vague effort to try and flatten the dark crop into some semblance of order but quickly lost interest. She had another dirty day ahead cleaning out the grate of the fireplace in what would one day become the dining room, so there was no point in more than basic ablutions as she would be filthy in no time.

With no more reason to linger on the little island of material any longer, Mia hurried from the bathroom and down the sweeping staircase that dominated the hallway of the house. She hopped and skipped her way down, well-versed in which of the boards were half rotten and ready to try and capture her foot in their splintery jaws.

Reaching the bottom, she dove on her cosy boots, shoved her freezing feet into their fleecy warmth, and sighed in relief. She scuffed her way into the kitchen, moving by rote as she made a cup of builder’s strength tea and gathered the bucket, brush and other cleaning implements she would need to tackle the fireplace. The worst of the old soot and rubbish had been removed from the grate the day before, but the whole thing was still stained from years of neglect.

Carrying her tea into the dining room, she paused to catch her breath as the view from the French windows caught her, as it did every time. This, this is what made her carry on when she wanted to throw in the towel and give up on the whole idea of running her own guest house. The view spread out before her: across the sad-looking collection of cracked paving in front of the window, through the weed-filled garden and beyond. Windswept dunes rolled down towards the sea. Churned to a murky green by the winter winds, it swelled and undulated like a living beast.

Dark clouds glowered above and the horizon was blurred by mist and rain out to sea. It looked dangerous and utterly captivating. Mia had seen pictures of it taken in the summer looking like a benign, soft blanket of blue edged with white lacy waves. She was determined that in a few months she would be sitting out on the patio in the sunshine with a cold glass of wine in her hand as she watched pleasure boats sailing across that blanket.

Finishing her tea, she ran through a mental list of things she had already achieved as she slowly put the house to rights. The daily exercise had become a motivational lifeline and thinking of the positives helped to offset the mountain of tasks outstanding. ‘One thing at a time, one step forward.’ Muttering the mantra, she turned back to the kitchen to fetch the first of many buckets of hot soapy water.

A couple of hours later, Mia sat back on her ankles and wiped her face on the increasingly dirty sleeve of her dressing gown; it would have to go in the washing machine that night, taking her another wash away from Jamie’s scent. It was a foolish thought; it had long ago stopped smelling of anything other than her fabric softener and, she gave a rueful sniff, her sweat.

The fireplace looked amazing; the enamel panels set into the red brick surround had come to life under her determined ministrations and were now a gentle shade of cream with a riot of colourful butterflies dancing over the deep green vines running up the centre of them. She had scrubbed the bricks with several different brushes so they varied in shade from dark, almost black, to nearly new red brick.

The house had history, had been lived in by many others, and each person who had passed through the front door had left their mark. Mia was determined to retain the lived-in, homely feel lurking beneath the layers of grime.

She climbed to her feet, rotating her hips a little to release some of the stiffness in them from prolonged kneeling at the hearth, and then lifted the bucket of cold, dirty water. Trying not to spill the filthy contents, she lugged it through the house and out into the yard. A large drain sat next to the barn and she’d taken to emptying the contents into it, rather than spoil the old butler’s sink in the kitchen. One last trip and then it was time for a shower.

The toot of a car horn and a brisk call of: ‘Ooh hoo, Mia darling!’ startled her, sending cold water sloshing onto her boots, which whilst soft and warm were not waterproof.

‘Well, shit,’ she said with feeling. Setting the bucket down, she folded her arms across her chest. She loved Madeline, she really did, but it had been a long day and Mia wasn’t in the mood for a gossip. She shrugged off the unkind thought.

Both Madeline and her kind-hearted husband, Richard, were a welcome blessing in her life. They had taken her under their wing from the moment they had called around to welcome Mia to the village and found her a sobbing mess on the front porch. In the front porch was more accurate as her foot had gone straight through the rotten wood and been stuck fast until they rescued her.

With a mixture of kindness, humour and tough love when the situation required it, the older couple were helping to turn the ramshackle house into the guest house she dreamed of. Mia turned her attention back to Madeline as her words filtered through. ‘I’ve brought you a present, darling. Your first of what I am sure will be many guests.’ Madeline disappeared back inside the car although her voice carried clearly across the cold air. ‘Out you get, Daniel, there’s a good boy. Mia will see you right.’

The passenger door swung open and Mia prayed to every god that she had ever heard of for a sinkhole to open and swallow her whole as a broad-shouldered, dark-haired, bearded man uncurled from the car, eyeing her with some trepidation.

Madeline appeared out of the driver’s side, opened the boot and wrestled out a duffel bag nearly as large as she was. She dropped the bag on the ground, swiftly closed the boot, and before Mia could utter a word, the gears of the car crunched forcing the stranger to jump clear to avoid being sideswiped as Madeline spun the car around and disappeared back up the drive with a toot and a wave.

‘Well, shit,’ Mia said again as the situation clearly warranted it, before she picked up the bucket and slopped over to the drain to empty what remained of the water.

‘Umm, Madeline said you run a B&B.’ The man’s voice rumbled pleasantly in his chest and Mia decided she needed to make the best of the situation, if she could only work out what the hell that was.

‘I am hoping to open the house to guests later this year; it’s just taking a little bit longer than I anticipated to put things straight,’ she said, with what she hoped was a confident smile as she skirted around the man. She was ripe and in dire need of a shower.

‘Daniel, is it? Would you like to come in for a cup of tea while I try and find out if somewhere else in the area is open and taking in guests?’ Mia tried to sound more confident than she felt about letting a stranger into her house. It was something she was going to have to get used to and surely Madeline wouldn’t leave her alone with a crazy man?

She continued briskly towards the kitchen door. He would follow or not but she needed to get her feet out of her wet boots before they started to rot or hypothermia set in.

Chapter Three

Daniel watched the woman, Mia, disappear through the back door, bucket swinging in hand and a large swathe of her dressing gown dragging along the ground behind her. He supressed a shudder, wondering whether the inside of the house would be as grubby as its owner. He wandered over to fetch his duffel bag and, as he bent over, he noticed a wizened stone face peering out from the depths of the evergreen shrubbery that shielded the back of the house.

Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he retrieved the digital camera that was always somewhere about his person and stepped closer to take a shot of the green man, for surely that was what the little statue was with its hair and beard carved to resemble ivy. The dark, almost waxy sheen of the leaves of the shrubbery framed the moss-covered stone and he knelt, heedless of the cold, damp gravel of the driveway to take a series of pictures.

The sun found a small break in the cloud and its weak but welcome warmth bathed the back of his head. A glint to the right caught his eye and he turned to study another half-hidden fancy: a bronze fairy this time, standing on tiptoe with her hands held out as though drawing down the sunlight.

Daniel scrambled closer, swearing to himself as the gravel dug into his knees through his jeans. Sitting back on his heels, he brushed a few stray stones from the two damp circles over his knees. He glanced towards the still-open door of the house, intrigued by the woman. She clearly had a sense of humour and imagination if these little secret figures were anything to go by.

He rolled his head on his shoulders then pushed up to his full height and collected his bag, slipping the camera back into his pocket. He was stiff and tired from the long train journey and he could certainly do with the cup of tea he’d been offered. He’d drunk plenty of tea from dirty mugs in his art school days after all. Trying not to look too closely at the cobweb-strewn windows and the patches of weeds poking up through the driveway, he headed for the back door.

Mia glanced over her shoulder from where she stood at the large white sink, scrubbing her hands with a brush. Catching a closer look, he realised she was a lot younger than he’d first assumed. Probably close to his own age. ‘Take your shoes off, please.’ She nodded to where her wet boots were drying on a piece of newspaper on the floor next to the radiator on the spotless stone floor. ‘And shut the door behind you. The boiler’s new but this house takes for ever to heat up.’

Daniel paused to survey the kitchen, relieved to find it immaculately clean. A wooden table dominated the centre of the large square room and a huge cooking range surrounded by granite worktops filled most of the back wall. The appliances looked modern and were a soft duck-egg blue, providing a nice contrast to the stone surfaces and wooden cupboards. He toed off his shoes and placed them carefully on the newspaper as requested.

‘Have a seat. I’ll just grab my cup from next door and get the phone book and see if we can find you somewhere with a bed.’ His reluctant hostess spoke again and Daniel moved towards the table just as she took a step forward and they nearly collided. He reached out a hand to brace her, but she shied away. Wrapping her arms around her body tightly, she took an exaggerated route around the kitchen to keep well away from him. He dropped his hand swiftly, feeling big and awkward in comparison to her delicate height.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’ Mia turned in the doorway and offered a weak smile at his apology before disappearing.

Heat rose on his cheeks as he sank into a chair; he was clearly not wanted here. How the hell had he got himself in such a mess? Getting away from London had seemed like such a good idea, but clearly he was not a spur-of-the-moment kind of guy. He was the man with the plan, the designated driver, always booked a table, always thought ahead.

He was not impulsive usually, but he’d woken that morning with a stinking hangover. The scent of cigarette smoke and stale perfume on the pillow next to him had turned his stomach. A wash of guilt over his bad behaviour the day before added to his misery.

His dreams of being an artist, a serious photographer, had taken him from his home to the bright lights of the capital like so many before him. London was where it all happened: where the connections were, the dealers who would frame his quirky black and white pictures and sell them to people with lots of money. His simple but arresting shots had captured attention and sooner than he could have ever dreamed of, he was flavour of the month with his pictures appearing in magazines and on the walls of the hip young things who set the trends others followed.

Before he knew it, Daniel was attending parties and premieres and his picture started appearing in the magazines in the gossip sections more often than images of his work did. Then there was Giselle. Always perfectly dressed and styled, she knew the perfect places to go and be seen with lots of other perfect people.

She was also a perfect bitch, although he hadn’t realised it until they’d somehow ended up living together. He still wasn’t sure how the hell that had happened, but Giselle had decided that she was going to be Daniel’s girlfriend and had attached herself to him like a limpet. He’d been too lazy, too enamoured with his own celebrity, and frankly, too stoned to do something about it until it was too late. The cold contempt in her voice had chased him halfway down the street as he scurried away with his hastily packed bag.

Shaking off his melancholy thoughts, Daniel roused at the sound of Mia shuffling back into the room. ‘This is Orcombe’s idea of Google.’ She dropped the local phone directory on the table before skirting past, back over to the kettle.

Daniel pulled the book towards him and started flipping through until he came to the section for hotels, inns and guest houses. He smiled slightly at using the old-fashioned book. So used to instant access to the world through his phone, it felt strange to be manually searching for information again.

Several of the entries carried small ads detailing seasonal opening so he ignored those. His eyes skimmed down the list but nothing sounded appealing. Even the simple decision to choose which number to try first seemed too much of a trial. Desperate for a distraction, he leaned back in his chair and studied the room around him.

Mia bustled around from the butler’s sink to the large retro-style fridge to fetch a pint of milk, which she plopped on the table before turning to rummage in one of the lower cupboards. Her bottom wiggled a little as she reached deeper into the cupboard.

A man might notice such a thing, even under the swathes of material she was layered in, if he was so inclined. Not that he was so inclined, of course. This pale, scruffy little creature was nothing compared to the sleek London girls he hung with.

Mia found what she was looking for apparently, given her little hoot of triumph as she backed out of the cupboard. She brandished a decorative cake tin in hand before dropping it on the table next to the milk. A quick rattle in the cupboard above the kettle and a side plate appeared, swiftly followed by two mugs of strong tea and a bag of sugar with a teaspoon poking out of the top.

Circling the battered oak table, she pulled out a chair for herself, as far away from him as possible he noted. She added a splash of milk to her tea and nudged the cake tin closer to him, then sat back on her chair with one foot tucked underneath her.

Raising the mug to her face, she blew across the surface of her tea before raising her eyes to meet his across the table. Deep brown, with thick sooty lashes framing them and large, almost purple bruising underneath. Her face was pale, too pale. It made her eyes seem huge above her button nose and dry lips that looked as though she chewed on them too often. As if to confirm his assumption, Mia drew her lower lip between her teeth and nibbled on it. She squinted her eyes at Daniel as though trying to come to a decision.

Daniel ducked his head away from her scrutiny and raised his own mug of tea to his mouth, venturing a sip before quickly pulling the cup away with a rueful expression. ‘No milk,’ he muttered before adding some and taking another drink.

‘Are you hungry? There are scones in the tin. No cream, I’m afraid, but there’s butter and jam if you want it.’ Mia nodded with her head towards the cake tin. He put down his mug and pried open the lid of the tin, giving the contents an exploratory sniff. The sweet, buttery scent of the scones teased his nose and his stomach gave an appreciative rumble.

He reached into the tin then pulled back to quickly head to the sink and wash his hands. Returning to his seat, he lifted out his prize from the baking tin. He sliced the scone in half and slathered on a generous layer of butter.

The first bite had his eyes rolling back into his head and he was afraid a little moan of bliss may have escaped him as the sweet taste of home baking filled his mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something that hadn’t been mass-produced from a supermarket chain. Not since his mam had passed away probably. He cut his eyes to Mia and was surprised to see her pleased smile.

‘Baked by my own fair hand those are,’ she said before taking a deep drink from her mug. ‘I’d better let Richard know that he’s got competition for my culinary attentions.’

‘Mnphfod?’ Daniel mumbled around another huge mouthful of scone.

‘Madeline’s husband. He trades labour and heavy lifting around the place in exchange for treats. It’s quite the bartering system we have going. I’m holding out on a Dundee cake until he regrouts the tiles in one of the guest bathrooms.’ She paused and some of the merriment fell from her eyes. ‘I think he does it to try and make me feel less guilty for all the hard work that he and Madeline have put in here. I would be lost without them, well even more lost…’ Mia trailed off and blushed as she stuck her nose back in her cup.

‘So you’d pay me in cake if I offered to lend a hand around here?’ The words were out before Daniel realised what he was saying and he mentally kicked himself as Mia stiffened visibly in her chair, her fingers whitening as she gripped her tea.

‘You can’t stay. I’ve no room for you,’ she stammered and Daniel crooked an eyebrow and raised his eyes to the ceiling. How many bedrooms would a place this size have? Five, six maybe. ‘No room fit for habitation. I don’t know you; you can’t be here. It’s a ridiculous notion.’

Mia slammed her mug down on the table and pulled the cordless phone out of its holder on the wall and shoved it across to him. ‘Get dialling. I’m going for a shower and to get dressed and then I’ll drop you off wherever.’

She whirled away and shot out of the kitchen into the hallway. Daniel leaned sideways in his chair and caught sight of her disappearing through another doorway with the stairs framed in the background. The door slammed and he heard the snick of a key as she locked it behind her before climbing the stairs, her passage marked by creaks and groans from the half-rotten staircase.

Daniel blew out a breath and scrubbed his hand thoughtfully across his chin as he tried to decide on what to do for the best. There was a pinboard next to where the phone holder was attached to the wall and he rose from his seat to examine the eclectic mix of items pinned to it. He knew he was being nosy, but he wanted to know more about his reluctant hostess.

There were several photographs—Mia with stunningly long hair and two other women who bore a striking resemblance to her; arms entwined and heads thrown back as they laughed together at something. There was something so free and joyous in the image that Daniel wished he’d been the one on the other side of the camera capturing that tiny flash of perfection and preserving it for ever.

There was another more recent photo of Mia, this time with Madeline, touching glasses of wine together as they toasted each other. Mia was smiling in this shot too, but her expression was much less open and her hair was now shorn off in the mad pixie crop that she sported today.

There were postcards from a random selection of capital cities and scraps of paper pinned haphazardly between the photos, recipes torn from magazines, a scribbled list of tasks to be tackled on the house that daunted Daniel as he scanned down it, quotations for roof repairs and resurfacing the driveway. Daniel double-checked one of the amounts and then forced himself to turn away from the board, guilty at how nosy he was being.

Curious about the rest of the house, he headed out into the hallway, past the locked door to the upper floors, and poked his head into the first room on the right. The room was mostly empty, just an old Welsh dresser and a matching sideboard shoved back against one wall. The wooden floor scratched and dark with age was bare and the windows were lacking curtains.

With nothing to distract and soften the view beyond, Daniel’s gaze was drawn inexorably to the writhing seascape and he moved without conscious thought until his nose was pressed up against the dirty glass of the French windows.

The memory of a long-forgotten poem rose unbidden. His dad had been a great one for poetry. A hard-working man, quiet—and some had thought him grim-faced and taciturn. Daniel had later realised this was a product of his dad’s shyness though he had never found him so. A man with few opportunities who’d resigned himself to a life of manual labour, he’d been determined to learn all he could and made damn sure his son looked beyond his roots to stretch for the heights of whatever he chose to study.

Whenever he pictured his dad, it was always with a book in hand: poetry, biographies, history. He soaked up everything and Daniel had learned to read at his knee, a new poem to memorise every week. His favourite times were when his dad opened his huge atlas of the world, letting Daniel choose a page at random. Whatever location he landed on, they would study and explore. A smile played on his lips. They’d travelled the world together side by side at the dining room table.

Daniel lost himself in the rolling waves and the rhythm of the words as they ebbed and flowed through his mind like the white foam of the tide on the sands before him. He rocked back slightly on his heels—hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans—and for the first time a little bit of peace and quiet stole into a corner of his heart.

This spot, this view had brought him a tiny step back to where he wanted to be. To whom he wanted to be. He wanted to be that man his father had envisioned as he plied his young son with knowledge and a love of learning, a love of exploration and wonder.

Daniel rested his suddenly hot forehead against the cold glass of the window as a wave of shame washed through him from the tips of his boots to the top of his head. A sudden gush of saliva filled his mouth, the sour taste of bile burning his throat. He wrestled with the handle of the French windows and burst out onto the scruffy patio. Lurching to the side, he doubled over, vomiting into the overgrown bushes that framed the door.

He heaved and heaved, feeling like he would turn himself inside out as the realisation hit of how disappointed his dad would be in the shallow, vain fool his beloved boy had become. For the first time, he was glad his dad had only lived long enough to enjoy the beginning of Daniel’s success rather than being there now to witness his fall from grace.

He pushed himself upright, raising his arm to wipe the tears, snot and vomit from his face. A soft noise to his right caused him to whip his head around and Daniel closed his eyes against a fresh roll of shame as he realised Mia had finished upstairs and leaned against the open patio door, her head tilted to one side as she watched him quietly.

Chapter Four

Mia stayed still as she watched Daniel struggle not to fall apart before her. His chest heaved, lungs working like a bellows as the air sawed in and out. There was a smear of vomit on his chin, more down his dark sweater and across the sleeve where he’d scrubbed at his face.

She recognised the signs of an impending meltdown when she saw them; had suffered plenty herself over the past couple of years. His obvious distress tugged at her. She didn’t want this man, this intruder in her house. The rational part of her recognised that his presence wasn’t voluntary, and she made a mental note to give Madeline a call later and voice her ire at the correct source of her dilemma.

Mia wanted to carry on as she was, hiding away and burying herself in the work to try and bring Butterfly House back to a semblance of its former glory. It was a Herculean task—even with the help and support of Madeline and Richard.

Her target for opening to guests was slipping further into the distance and part of her was glad of it. If the house wasn’t ready, then she didn’t have to be ready to deal with the outside world. Her grand plan to move forward with her life had turned into a different type of inertia. Perhaps it was time to act, time to take a chance and help someone else, and just maybe help herself at the same time.

Daniel raised a hand to cover his already shut eyes and his shoulders quaked. Moving before she was aware of what she was doing, she reached out to take his other hand, heedless of the unpleasant dampness of it.

‘Daniel, come inside with me and let’s get you cleaned up. It’s all right, darling. It’ll be all right, I promise.’ She tugged gently on his hand and gave an encouraging nod when he dropped his big hand to blink at her through the moisture clinging to his lashes. The sparkle of his tears drew her attention to the stormy green colour of his eyes.

Walking backwards she maintained eye contact as she led him through the empty room and back into the relative warmth of the kitchen. She guided him back to the table and he didn’t resist when pressed into a chair. She dashed through to the dining room to close and latch the patio doors, her stockinged feet sliding across the wooden floor as she hurried back.

Pulling the kitchen door closed, she cocooned them in the warmth from the Aga. Daniel hadn’t moved from the spot she had placed him in and Mia gave him a worried frown as she went over to the sink and turned on the hot water tap. She quickly rinsed her hands, washing off the vomit and snot and supressing a little shudder. Not the time to be squeamish.

Retrieving a plastic bowl from under the sink, she filled it with warm water and fetched a clean towel from the drawer. After placing them on the table, she gripped Daniel’s chin, turning his face towards her. He remained passive while she washed his face, letting her turn his head this way and that as she wiped away the traces of his outburst. She rinsed the towel out in the bowl, then cleaned off his hands with the same concentration, keeping her touch gentle, stroking his skin until he began to stir.

Daniel opened his mouth, no doubt to apologise for his behaviour, but she shook her head and tapped him under the chin to close his mouth. ‘Arms up, Daniel. Let’s get this nasty sweater off you.’ Taking care not to let the dirty material touch his face, she eased the garment over his head and bundled it up with the dirty towel. Turning away, she shoved them into the washing machine, adding them to her grubby pyjamas and dressing gown. A quick twist of the dial and the soothing hum of the machine filled the air.

‘You got a toothbrush in that duffel bag of yours?’ Mia asked, pointing towards the big bag that lay just inside the back door. She waited for him to nod before digging around in its contents until she gave a little grunt of satisfaction as she located and retrieved his wash kit. ‘You’ll feel better once you rinse your mouth and clean your teeth; I always do,’ she said trying to put him at ease.

Deciding a cold drink would probably be welcome, she fetched a can of Diet Coke and a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, before resuming her seat from earlier, one foot tucked beneath her in her habitual position. She’d regret it soon enough when the pins and needles started, but it was a habit she’d developed in childhood and never grown out of.

She watched Daniel rinse and spit, rinse again then dry his face and hands. He was braced over the sink taking deep breaths and the tension in his shoulders told her was trying not to be sick again. Without any real thought, she crossed to stand behind him and rubbed his back softly. Making circles with her hand, she stroked the tense muscles until they yielded beneath her touch.

Stormy green eyes met hers over his shoulder and she twisted her lips into a semblance of a smile, though there was little true mirth in it. ‘What a pair of fuck-ups we are,’ she said bluntly.

Surprise widened his gaze, chasing away some of the desperate vulnerability she couldn’t miss. She knew that look, knew it well, and it helped to crystallise her decision. ‘I don’t want to hear your sad story, Daniel. Nor do I want to tell you mine, so I’ll make a deal with you. You can stay here for a week and get yourself together and in return I expect you to work on the house to earn your keep. There’s a list of things to do as long as your arm. I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t have a room fit for habitation. I’ll get you a quilt and a pillow and you can crash on the sofa. Tomorrow you can pick one of the rooms upstairs and we’ll clean it up so you have somewhere to sleep tomorrow night. That’s my only offer—take it or take off.’

Mia hoped he’d take it. She knew what it was like to hit rock bottom and Daniel seemed close to that. It was time to move forward and she could manage a week. There were plenty of dirty, heavy chores on her list that he could help with. A bit of hard work might be just what he needed.

‘Thank you.’ His voice sounded rough, his throat clearly raw and dry. Mia stepped back, gathered the drinks and offered them to him. He reached for the Diet Coke, popping the tab and gulping at the cold, sweet liquid. She waited for him to drink his fill, wary in case it came back up, but he seemed more settled now that she had agreed to let him stay for a few days.

‘A couple of the rooms upstairs are en suite so I’ll sort the bathroom out while you sort the bedroom. Can you manage tonight without a shower? The only useable one is in my room and I just can’t have you in there.’ She turned away, needing to put some distance between them, muttering to herself as she resumed her seat. ‘I just can’t have you in my space.’

Mia crossed one arm over her chest and rubbed her other shoulder. The body language was defensive, but she couldn’t help it. With each passing moment, panic rose. She wanted to rescind her offer, shove Daniel out the door and erect all her barriers again. Danger! Keep Out! No Trespassing! She forced her hands down into her lap and tried to relax and keep her breathing calm.

‘You’ve done more than I could ever have expected under the circumstances. I’m sorry to put you in this position.’ His quiet tone sounded soft and sincere. With a rueful laugh, he continued. ‘But apparently not sorry enough that I can bring myself to do the honourable thing and leave you in peace. I will do my best to repay you with a lot of hard work and I wouldn’t dream of invading any more of your home than you are comfortable with sharing. A hot shower and a proper bed will be motivation tomorrow to get stuck in.’

Mia felt his eyes on her but didn’t want to meet them. She crossed over to the kitchen window, pulling the curtains closed over the rapidly darkening sky. ‘It gets dark so quickly this time of year.’ She rolled her eyes at her inane remark; her back was turned so thankfully he didn’t see her. The decision was made and it was time to face up to it. Hopefully they would find some neutral ground where they could both relax a little and adjust to the other’s company.

She’d always been a feeder by nature, a nurturer. It was a source of deep regret that she and Jamie had not felt ready to have a child because at least then she would’ve had a piece of him to care for. They’d been young, eager to explore the world together, revelling in the selfish bliss of just their own company, not having to split their attentions on anything other than each other. They had their whole lives ahead of them, Jamie had said. No need to rush into a family.

A burst tyre and a slick, wet road had robbed them of their future; those dream babies that Mia had pictured holding would never fill her empty arms. ‘Shit, shit, stop it, Mia!’ She shook her head to dislodge the memories threatening to encroach.

Needing to hide for a moment to regain her compose, she crossed the kitchen and entered the narrow pantry that ran the length of the room. It was a treasure of a space. Sturdy, wide shelves down one side and a built-in wine rack at the far end. The bare stone floor helped to keep the temperature cooler than the rest of the kitchen, but was brutal underfoot this time of year, even with thick woollen socks on.

Mia grabbed the cob loaf wrapped in a muslin cloth and returned to the main kitchen space, wiggling her feet gratefully on the warmer floor in front of the Aga. She unwrapped the bread and tested its freshness. She’d baked it a couple of days ago, but the cloth had helped to keep it from drying out. Opening the fridge, she retrieved half a roast chicken, a pot of single cream and some stock. She placed them on the board and turned back towards the pantry. Daniel watched her, a slightly quizzical expression on his face.

‘I thought I’d make some soup, nothing too testing if your stomach is still feeling a little rebellious. We’ll both feel better for a hot meal, I think.’

She carried on past the table and back into the pantry to root in her vegetable basket for the bits she needed to thicken the soup and up the nutritional punch. Since moving to Orcombe, she’d made a conscious effort to eat well, having neglected herself for too long after Jamie’s death. Cooking and baking had always been a source of comfort and enjoyment. Originally it had been a chore that she had learned through necessity thanks to her mother’s negligence and her father’s steadfast refusal to notice his wife’s drink problem.

As the oldest of three, it had fallen to Mia to assume the responsibility for the day-to-day care of her two sisters. Each of them had taken on a different role to survive their upbringing. Kiki had been the pacifier, covering for their mother and making excuses for their father spending so many hours buried in his work. Nee had been the warrior protector of her elder sisters. A tiny bundle of spirit and fury from a young age, she was the one who verbally sparred with their father, driving him to distraction and the sanctuary of his study in her vain efforts to get his attention. Her exhortations to their mother to put down her glass and give a damn led to tears on both sides.

Together the girls had done their best to look out for each other but they had scattered to the winds as soon as they could. Mia and Kiki to young marriages; Nee to art school and more recently overseas. Mia glanced over to the pinboard at the postcard of Times Square lit up in all its seedy glory. She hadn’t heard from Nee since that last card had arrived about three weeks ago and it struck Mia suddenly she had no idea where her little sister was other than somewhere in Manhattan.

‘I’m not a great cook, but I take instruction well. Is there anything I can do to help?’ Daniel’s deep voice broke through her reverie.

Mia blinked at him, trying to gather her thoughts before pointing to the cooked chicken. ‘You can shred the meat from that if you don’t mind; that would be a great help. Take it over to the table with you so that you don’t get under my feet. I’m not used to anyone else in the kitchen these days.’

‘But you used to have someone else in your kitchen?’ Daniel prompted and Mia couldn’t stop her whole body from stiffening.

She kept slicing and chopping, her hands working automatically as she reeled under an assault of memories. At least Jamie had never been in this kitchen. It was her own space, manageable most days. ‘No sad stories, remember?’ She jabbed her finger at the radio on the countertop next to her.

A commercial music station filled the kitchen with a rhythmic beat and Mia flicked the volume up a couple of notches, erecting a wall of sound that separated them. She chopped the vegetables with a practiced hand, added them to a large saucepan with the chicken stock and set it to simmer on the top of the Aga.

Daniel bent to his task, stripping the meat from the carcass of the chicken, shredding it as he placed it on a clean plate. Mia paused to check his efforts before she returned to the stove, tapping a wooden spoon against the pan in time with the music as she checked the progress of the soup.

The music caught her in its rhythm and she swayed and sang along, waiting for the stock to boil. She couldn’t carry a tune to save her life, but she loved to sing. Aiming for the high note in the chorus, she missed her target by a country mile. A soft chuckle behind her reminded her that she wasn’t alone.

If her face glowed, it was the heat from the stove and most definitely not a blush.

Chapter Five

Daniel relaxed back in his chair and focused on Mia. He was surprised to find that he was hungry after his earlier disgrace, but the scents filling the kitchen soothed him and gave him a little more strength to push away the embarrassment threatening to rise again. And not just over his performance earlier. He’d have to call his client from yesterday and apologise for his unprofessional behaviour.

Over the last year, his agent had pushed him into more and more private sittings, trying to turn him into a half-baked celebrity snapper. Soap actresses, footballer’s wives, and the idle rich had jumped at the chance of a personal portrait sitting with sexy, brooding Fitz, so bloody Nigel reckoned. He couldn’t deny the money had been good, more than good, and the constant round of parties had been fun. Until suddenly they weren’t.

Yesterday’s client, a sweet girl engaged to her childhood sweetheart who’d been swept into the celebrity bubble because he could kick a ball, had borne the brunt of his hangover and short temper. When she’d shown him into the carefully staged room and spoken earnestly about learning about composition in GCSE art classes, something snapped inside him.

Storming out on a stream of curses, he’d gone straight to his favourite pub to try and drown his sorrows. The row with Giselle over failing to escort her to some stupid party had been the final straw.

Guilt sent an uneasy roil through his stomach. Somewhere along the way, he’d turned into the kind of self-absorbed wanker he’d first sneered at when arriving in London. Don’t think about it. He wasn’t ready to face a serious bout of introspection; he needed to use the week ahead to put some space between himself and the mess of his life that he had so abruptly fled from that morning. Hard physical work would be just what he needed. A couple of days to breathe, to sort out his head and get back on track.

Needing distraction, his eyes skipped to the long list of chores Mia had pinned on her wall. If nothing else, he would help her cross at least a few of them off. It would be good to do something productive and make his muscles ache from labour rather than his head aching from too much booze and the other rubbish he’d been shoving into his body over the past few months.

The phone, lying forgotten on the table in front of him, began to ring startling Daniel. He looked at it with trepidation, wondering who was intruding on the little cave of solace he had found in the kitchen. Mia scooped up the handset and shimmied back towards the radio, turning the volume down a little as she answered the phone.

‘Oh hey, Richard.’ The warmth in her tone drew Daniel’s attention and he met Mia’s eyes as she pulled a little face and shook her head as she listened to whatever Madeline’s husband had to say.

‘Yes, I know, I know…you don’t have to tell me she acted inappropriately, Richard. I didn’t call her up and ask her to dump a random stranger on my doorstep.’ Daniel flinched at that comment and Mia raised a hand in half-apology at him as she continued to hmm, and uh-huh and all those other noises that women universally made when they were on the phone.

‘She had a feeling about what, exactly?’ Sharpness entered Mia’s tone and Daniel squirmed, feeling even more the awkward intruder. He moved away from the table towards the stove, trying to put some distance between them and give her some semblance of privacy.

He glanced over to Mia and pointed at the pot and the stove and mimed stirring it and she flashed him a thumb’s up. Lifting the lid, he closed his eyes in appreciation, swaying just a little as the aroma of the soup filled his nostrils. His stomach growled as he gave the pot a stir and he tried hard to give it his whole focus and close his ears to the hushed tones coming across the room. It was useless.

‘I don’t need rescuing, Richard. I’m doing just fine… Oh okay, okay, yes you can call bullshit on that, but I don’t think I’m ready for company yet… No, no, you guys don’t need to come over… I’ve told him a week, just a week and he’s going to help out around the place.’

Mia crossed the room, phone still under her chin, and tapped Daniel on the arm. She pointed to the bread and then the knife rack before circling back around the table towards the phone holder on the wall.

‘You know I can always use your help around here, Richard. Yes, and Madeline too, although she and I will be having words tomorrow… Uh-huh. Nine should be fine. I’ll make bacon sandwiches to get us going… Yep, yep. Bye.’

Daniel placed a mountain of freshly sliced bread on the table, quickly followed by two steaming bowls, and was rewarded with a smile of gratitude from Mia. The phone call had upset the equilibrium achieved during their mutual preparation of the meal, the outside world inserting itself into the warm cocoon of the kitchen. He felt like he should apologise again for intruding, but the selfish part of him didn’t want to give her an opportunity to ask him to leave.

The station on the radio switched to a mellower selection and he let the music and the warmth of the soup bring him down from the turmoil of the past couple of hours. Dipping his spoon into the hot liquid, he took a taste. It was perfect and he let go of everything as he let the soup nourish him body and soul.

His spoon soon scraped the bottom of the bowl and he grabbed another piece of bread to mop up every drop he could before leaning back in his chair, sliding down a little to stretch his long legs out. The warmth in his stomach spread through him, chasing away some of the hollowness and the remains of the shock following his earlier breakdown.

The previous jitters lurked still, threatening to rise if he let his thoughts stray to anything beyond the room around him. Especially if he thought too hard about the mess he’d left behind in London. He shoved them all into a corner and squashed them down, fixing his mind on the harmless task of counting things. There were twelve slate tiles to each row across the kitchen floor, fifteen rows in total. Eight cupboards, fourteen flowers on each curtain. Gradually the fluttery edges of panic smoothed away.

He’d have to deal with everything, but not just yet. A week, she’d said. Everything could be put on hold for a week. Forget Fitz, get back to being plain old Daniel Fitzwilliams. He’d wipe the slate and start fresh for this one week and try and figure out exactly who that was, or more importantly who he wanted Daniel Fitzwilliams to be.

***

Mia woke with a start and stared at her old friend, Mr Damp on the bedroom ceiling, trying to work out what had disturbed her. The second slam of a car door sent her straight out of bed and over to the grubby windowpane as she peered down to the driveway below.

She watched in disbelief as Daniel ambled out of the back door towards Madeline and Richard. They were all dressed practically in jeans, T-shirts and old jumpers. Mia glanced over at the clock on her bedside cabinet and squinted in disbelief at the position of the hands. Five past nine? What the hell? She never slept that late.

‘Damn, damn damn!’ Mia rummaged through her drawers, throwing old jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt onto the bed before dashing into the bathroom, underwear in hand. She blinked and scowled at her reflection; the bloody Mohawk mice had been to visit in the night again and she had a big crease down one side of her face from the pillow. A quick wash, teeth scrubbed, hair vaguely wetted down and she rushed down the stairs, socks in hand and still buttoning her jeans.

She pulled up short at the closed, locked door at the bottom of the stairs before she remembered that Daniel had insisted that she shut herself in the night before.

‘Not that I’m a raving maniac or anything, regardless of my behaviour today,’ he’d said with a self-deprecating grin. ‘But I am a stranger in your home and you are not used to someone else being here, you said. If you lock the door, you might rest easier.’

It had been a gracious thing to do, putting her at ease, and it had clearly worked given how well she had slept. For the first time in weeks there had been no nightmares. No waking up to the echo of her footsteps tapping on the cold tiles on that endless walk through the hospital corridor towards the room where Jamie waited for her, cold and lifeless. Pushing away the macabre images before they could take hold, she unlocked the door and let the sound of the living draw her away from the dead.

Mia entered the kitchen, pausing on the threshold to absorb the scene before her. Madeline stood at the Aga frying bacon, brandishing a spatula at Richard who was buttering bread and laughing at some rude comment he had made to her. Daniel leant against the back door, a cup of coffee in his hand, watching the couple with a wistful smile on his face. He looked less grey and haunted than the day before; perhaps they’d both managed a decent night’s sleep. He stirred and the smile warmed as he sensed Mia’s presence.

‘Umm, Richard and Madeline are here,’ he said and gave her a helpless shrug.

‘So, I see,’ Mia said dryly as she stepped further into the kitchen and moved towards Richard’s open arms. She rested her head on his chest and let him enfold her in his fatherly embrace. Both he and his wife had waged a gentle, but insistent war against Mia’s self-imposed isolation. She’d resented their endless cheer at first, but now she wondered how she would have survived the past few months without them.

‘Hello, darling girl.’ Richard pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘I’ve been dreaming about bacon sandwiches all night and we get here to find you still slugabed.’ He chucked her under the chin and winked. ‘You look better for it, still too pale for my liking though. I’m going to start force-feeding you Guinness if you don’t get some colour back in those cheeks soon.’

Mia shook her head and stepped out of his arms to turn towards an uncharacteristically quiet Madeline. Tension vibrated from her as she concentrated on the bacon on the stove. Slipping her arms around Madeline’s waist, she gave her a squeeze from behind. ‘Meddling, old bag.’ She pressed a kiss to Madeline’s cheek, feeling it twitch in a smile.

Mood lifting in an instant, the older woman leaned back into her. ‘Everyone needs a meddling old bag in their life, my dear. Although we prefer the term “Fairy Godmother” if you don’t mind. Now stop hanging off me; this bacon is done and Richard won’t raise a finger until we’ve fed him.’

Mia let her go, crossing to the kettle to make a cup of tea as she let Madeline and Richard assemble a huge stack of doorstep sandwiches. They’d made the first steps towards healing the rift between them, although she still had no idea what had possessed the older woman to drop a stranger on her doorstep and run.

Letting her eyes drift to where said stranger hovered at the edges of their group, she felt a surge of sympathy at the uncertainty on his face. It wasn’t his fault either. Holding out her hand she beckoned Daniel towards the table, nodding in encouragement when he hung back. ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Daniel. If you don’t get stuck in there won’t be anything left.’

Not waiting to see if he followed, she settled into her usual seat. The smell of bacon filled her nose and her mouth watered in anticipation. Her tummy gave a little rumble and she clutched her hand to it, laughing along with the others. When was the last time she’d looked forward to eating? Too long ago. Accepting the plate and mug Richard placed in front of her, Mia grabbed the huge sandwich and bit down, closing her eyes as the crispy smoke of the bacon and the spicy bite of HP sauce hit her taste buds.

She opened her eyes to see Madeline watching her, a cloud of worry marring her kind gaze. Mia’s heart swelled and she blamed the lump in her throat on swallowing too much of her sandwich at once. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ she said quietly.

Madeline gave her a watery smile. ‘That’s not something you ever have to worry about, darling.’

Blinking away the prickle behind her eyes, Mia focused on her breakfast and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for such wonderful friends.