‘Jago Jenken would buy it, I know he would. You told me he paid over the odds for the other stuff, so why not the farm? You could still stay in Seahaven Bay and get yourself a little cottage and probably wouldn’t need to ever work again. Do nothing. You know it makes sense.’

  Rita blew out a huge breath and looked to the sky to stop her tears from falling.

  ‘I don’t like to see you upset. Come here.’ Thom went to hug his mother, who instinctively pushed him away.

  ‘I know your game, Thomas Jory.’ Rita’s voice was cracking. ‘I’m forty-five, with hopefully a long life ahead of me and I don’t just want to do nothing. For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling some kind of happiness, some sense of achievement. So, don’t you dare come at me saying what you think is right, because to be honest, I’m not listening anymore.’ Anger was now doing the talking and wouldn’t shut up. ‘You swan in here, after only seeing you three times since your father passed, and start throwing this around. Maybe you should’ve spent more time thinking about how I’ve been feeling and getting through that instead.’ Rita threw out her arm and pointed towards his car. ‘Get to St Austell, Thomas. Enjoy your work jolly.’ Unable to hold it together any longer, tears burst from Rita – tears of anger, grief, confusion all tangled together. She clumsily got out from the picnic bench and ran at full pelt towards the farmhouse.

  Thom casually walked behind her, got in his car, and sped off the drive, causing gravel to fly up and leave a cloud of dust in his wake, and covering Teo, who was just walking towards the barn to prepare it for his sunset yoga class later.

  On seeing Rita opening the front door in a state of snot and sobbing, he rushed to follow her in, coughing and brushing down his peeling NAMASTE T-shirt as he went. Henry, sleeping in his bed by the Aga, opened one eye and shut it again.

  ‘Oh, my beautiful Rita, not again.’ Taking her in his arms, he hugged her tightly, her head resting against his firm chest, speaking in Spanish in a soothing voice until her tears had subsided and her breath was at a normal pitch. She pulled away, leaving remnants of eyeliner and mascara on his top. Her face was contorted in anguish. She let out a huge hitch of breath.

  Teo pulled her towards him again and almost comically gripped her to his chest. ‘Who is this terrible person, who has hurt you so badly? Tell me.’

  For fear of suffocation by tanned and firm pectorals (but what a way to go!), Rita pulled herself away again and moved across to the sink. She shook her head slowly, a strange mix of shame and sorrow tangled in her chest, making her hesitate to respond. It was as if admitting that it had been her own son who had hurt her so badly was a failure on her part, a crack in the foundation she’d tried so hard to keep intact with and without Archie. Like it might be a betrayal, not just of him but of herself.

  ‘My son, Thomas,’ she blubbed. ‘He wants me to sell up.’

  ‘Oh. OK.’ Teo’s voice wobbled slightly. He then took a breath, held the tops of both of her shoulders and looked right at her with his soft, molten brown eyes. ‘Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Death and money does strange things to people. You’re not on your own, OK?’ He nodded. Keeping close eye contact, he repeated, ‘OK?’

  He continued to nod until Rita eventually whispered a watery, ‘OK.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘Hold on, Kel. I’m taking you into the Den,’ Rita shouted into her phone speaker whilst grabbing her mobile and mug of tea from the kitchen counter. She settled into the window seat, cradling the warm drink in her hands, and gazed out over the cliffs ahead.

  Kelly sounded animated, as usual. ‘Just wondered how all the fun at the farm was going.’

  ‘Well, Camilla’s pregnant, a fox has dug up Nigel and Teo’s just reversed into the Snack Shack.’

  They both started laughing involuntarily. Rita composed herself. ‘I have a scorned divorce lawyer, a millennial vegan, a voluptuous man-eater, a wolf in mouse’s clothing and a disillusioned but hot rock star as retreat guests, but aside from that I’m fine.’

  ‘Stop.’ Kel laughed again. ‘Have you ever considered stand-up?’

  ‘“I’m Still Standing” should be my theme tune at the moment.’

  ‘Aw, what’s up, chicken?’

  Rita took a huge breath. ‘Thom came to see me.’

  ‘Wow, the prodigal son returns. What did he want?’

  ‘You know it… he wants me to sell the farm. Thinks I’m playing at being a businessperson.’

  ‘And how would he gain from that, unless he is genuinely looking out for you?’ Kelly said in a measured tone.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. But I’m loving doing this, Kel. I haven’t felt this sense of purpose for a long time.’

  ‘So don’t let him bully you.’

  Rita blinked hard. ‘Archie used to get his way a lot, too, didn’t he?’

  Kel’s voice was softer. ‘Yes, he did, Reet. We are programmed to remember the good times, don’t forget that.’

  ‘Are you all right? Ron behaving himself?’

  ‘Don’t get me started. He just did a lap of the garden shouting, “Winner!” as he got Wordle in two goes.’

  ‘I think you’d miss him if he wasn’t there.’

  ‘Maybe, but only because I’d have no one to correct my grammar.’

  ‘Right, I’d better get on. Thanks for checking in.’ Rita finished off her tea.

  ‘Before you go, any more notes in the tree? You know I’m living vicariously through your mystery note leaver.’

  ‘No, the last one was, “If you don’t know what to do, do nothing and the answer will come to you.”’

  ‘Hmm. Strange. Any ideas what that could mean?’

  ‘I guess I’m still waiting for the answer to come to me, whatever it may be.’ Rita laughed and stood. ‘I’d better go and oversee Stan and Teo getting the Snack Shack back in order… and make sure Nigel is resting in peace.’

  Kelly groaned. ‘Don’t mention the cock!’

  Rita noticed the beautiful vase of flowers on the coffee table and her thoughts drifted back to the kiss. What if Hilda was right? What if her son and Jago were in cahoots, trying to force her into selling the farm? Surely her judgement couldn’t be that off. But then again, if money was involved, Jilly and Teo were right. She’d seen how it could turn people into vultures. Even the ones you thought you knew. She reached for her washing basket from the utility room and headed outside.

  Rita unpegged clothes from the washing line that Teo had kindly strung up in her private walled garden, tucked neatly out of sight of the guests. Her mind was racing as she shook out T-shirts with unnecessary force then threw them untidily into her ancient plastic washing basket. The breeze had picked up, flapping at the sheets still pegged on the line, and with every tug of fabric, her frustration bubbled higher.

  ‘Same as me, domesticity never did come easy to you, did it?’ Hilda’s voice drifted from the garden gate as she stepped through it, wearing black leggings and a pink T-shirt to match her trainers. ‘Before I met Archie’s father, I was more used to sending out laundry from a boutique hotel in Florence than folding it myself in a Cornish garden.’

  Rita didn’t turn. ‘If you’ve come to lecture me again, don’t bother. I’ve had enough this week already.’

  ‘Yes, I saw the marquee took a hit.’

  Rita replied tersely. ‘It’s hardly a firm structure and just a scratch on the Land Rover’s bumper so all is well, thank you, Hilda.’

  Hilda came to her daughter-in-law’s side. ‘I came to help you bring the washing in. Not to have a go at you.’

  ‘Fine. But I’m still annoyed with you.’

  ‘Is this about Jago Jenken or the will?’

  ‘Of course it’s about the will and yes… Jago too! Why would you mention that in front of Thom? I don’t want him to think I can’t cope or worry him unnecessarily.’

  Hilda folded a tea towel and threw it in the basket. ‘I just wanted to see how he’d react. You’re acting like you can trust everyone, even with the financial mess Archie left you in. And whether you believe it or not, Rita, I’ve got your back.’

  ‘I have to be able to trust my own son, surely.’ Rita sighed. ‘Or what kind of mother does that make me?’

  ‘But can you?’ Hilda’s voice remained level.

  That stung more than Rita cared to admit. She looked away. ‘What, you think he may have hidden the will. But why?’

  ‘I don’t know. But he might be influenced. By someone who knows how to twist things to their advantage.’

  That did it. Rita’s spine stiffened. ‘Right.’

  She dumped the rest of the washing into the basket and left it on the grass. ‘Thanks for the help, Hilda, but I’ve got something to sort out.’

  ‘Rita, act in haste, repent at leisure!’ the old lady called out.

  But Hilda’s words were lost on the breeze, and Rita was already marching across the courtyard, reaching in her pocket for her keys and flinging open the door to the Suzuki with enough force to rattle the window. Her short drive to Hawthorn Acre was a blur of red mist and furious thoughts.

  When she pulled up in a cloud of dust, Jago was in the yard, shirtsleeves rolled up, bent over a tractor engine.

  ‘Jago Jenken,’ she shouted, slamming the door and marching towards him. ‘We need to talk.’

  Oblivious of the fury afoot, Stan raised his hand at her from the hay barn.

  Jago straightened slowly, his emerald-green eyes showing a smattering of amusement. ‘Well, this is an unexpected pleasure. Shall we take it inside?’

  ‘No, I’m fine just here.’ Rita felt like she could barely breathe. ‘Did you really think that I would sit and stare whilst you and my son stitch me up over selling the farm?’

  He flinched. ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘No, what’s not fair is you playing me like a fool. The yurts, the flowers, the kiss. Was any of it genuine or was it merely a strategy to blur my judgement?’

  He stepped forward, calm but assertive. ‘Rita, I haven’t planned anything. I’ve never conspired with Thom. In fact, I like you…’

  ‘But he was here yesterday.’

  ‘He was at the gate, yes. For ten minutes. A couple of sheep wandered; he had to stop.’ Jago paused. ‘Shocked me how much he looked like Archie, actually…’ His voice trailed off. ‘I barely know the lad.’

  ‘That’s exactly what he said to me, to the word,’ Rita huffed. ‘Almost like you practised it together.’ Then without thought she said, ‘No wonder you’re single if you’re this bloody devious.’

  She took a breath, realising she had maybe overstepped the mark, and more.

  Jago’s expression darkened in an instant. When he finally spoke, his tone was icy. ‘Don’t speak of things you know nothing about.’ The handsome farmer held her gaze. ‘I’ve been nothing but kind to you. And here you are allowing your cloak of grief to cover you in misery and think everyone is out to get you.’ He dropped the tractor bonnet with a sharp clunk.

  As he looked down at her with a sadness that said more than words, Rita stared right at him. Everything she’d been feeling, anger, attraction, confusion, had fused into something unmanageable. They were close now. Too close. Her heart pounded with the same fury that had driven her here.

  Jago broke the tension. ‘You’ve got that handsome Spanish chap now who seems really handy, so I’m happy for you to have use of Stan for the rest of the month. Then, I think for both our sakes, it’s better if we keep away from each other, just like we used to.’

  ‘Fine!’ Rita said far too loudly, flouncing towards the Jimny.

  Jago, visibly upset, started walking back to the farmhouse. Then he turned and shouted, ‘I’m not a liar.’

  Rita turned the radio on full blast and drove her little Jimny as fast as it would go. She drove away from Hawthorn Acre and Jago Jenken, away from Seahaven Bay and all the muddle it had come to represent. With the windows down and the wind in her hair, she followed the scenic coastal road towards the headland of Seahaven Point.

  When she reached the bend in the road where Archie had met his tragic end, she instinctively slowed down. Her chest tightened. The sobs came suddenly, deep, gasping sobs for Archie, for the mess with Thomas, for herself and the endless, wearying failure to trust anyone completely. She was angry, grieving, lost, all the painful emotions she’d tried to outrun now rushing in to catch her. Realising she couldn’t see properly through the tears, she continued slowly to the tourist car park at the top of the point and parked up close to the bench with its enviable position of facing straight out to sea.

  She was surprised, and quietly relieved, to find the car park almost empty for a July day. Granted, the kids hadn’t broken up for the summer holidays yet, but even so it was glorious out. Sliding on her sunglasses to hide her now-puffy eyes, she wandered over to the little kiosk and bought a coffee from the handsome, tanned bloke manning the counter. Then she made her way to the bench and sat down, grateful for the quiet she could no longer find at the top of the High Meadow. The view was perfect: a hard, clean horizon cutting the cloudless sky and blue-green sea in two. Slowly, she began to melt into herself. The rage, the chaos, the full-body emotional storm of the past hour started to ease off. She tipped her head back to catch the warmth of the sun and for a while she just sat there, breathing shallow and ragged, Jago’s words ringing in her ears.

  … for both our sakes, it’s better if we keep away from each other.

  The words echoed, sharp and certain, yet somehow still refused to land fully. They hovered in the air, not quite believable, not quite dismissible. The tears came again, and this time she let them fall freely. She hated this feeling. Hated being so exposed, so peeled-back. But most of all, she hated the confusion. The impossible tangle of anger, affection, sadness, and something far more complicated that she hadn’t dared name.

  And goodness knows how she would have reacted if she’d seen Jago, who had pulled quietly into the car park just moments after her, watching from a distance as she sat down, safe, coffee in hand. And then, with a clenched jaw, he drove away without her noticing.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Rita had always thought that the waves crashing onto the beach sounded different at night. Softer, somehow. As if the ocean was letting its shoulders drop after a long day, too.

  A full moon hung above the dark ocean at Seahaven Bay’s surf beach. Its silvery light spilled onto the sea, casting a shimmery path that stretched all the way to the shore, as if inviting you to step out and walk across the waves. Stars were dotted above like tiny pinpricks in black velvet, each one flickering as if delivering a secret message from the cosmos. The tide whispered close to the fire pit Zenya had dug earlier that evening, and the soft crunch of bare feet on sand signalled the arrival of her small moonlit crew wearing the head torches that Rita had asked Teo to put in each yurt that afternoon.

  ‘All right, soul seekers,’ Zenya said warmly, spreading out the last of the battered beach blankets and flicking her torch off. ‘Welcome to the first ever midnight moonlight mantras. No phones, no expectations. Just stars, snacks, a slurp of Sauvignon and possibly profound revelations.’

  ‘Just the one glass for me!’ Michael announced loudly. ‘I can’t be being a complete drunken tosser again and risk you all leaving me out here in the dark, now can I?’

  ‘Well done,’ Rita said encouragingly, having realised quite quickly that her no alcohol ruling had been shortsighted and might even put off some prospective guests. She wanted the retreat to be a place for freedom and choice, not one bound by rigid rules.

  ‘One bottle, he probably means,’ Lola said to the sky.

  Rita and Teo sat on either side of their warrior queen, offering moral support. Truth be told, Rita needed some of that herself after her scrap with Jago. She still felt a bit sick from it all, a bit rattled, raw.

  Realising none of them were wanting to abstain from alcohol for a whole month, the group had decided to bring wine. Even Emily had thrown up her hand when they’d taken a vote earlier that day. As Teo had driven them all down to the beach, Rita was also inclined to drown her sorrows.

  Michael dropped his camping chair into the sand with a grunt, held up a packet of marshmallows like a peace offering. ‘Do these count as soul food?’

  Emily giggled. ‘Only if your soul’s made of glucose and self-loathing.’

  Michael snorted. ‘Darling girl, even Satan would move out of my head if he was living with my thoughts.’

  Annie, already cocooned in a Rupert the Bear onesie and two blankets, peered up at the sky. ‘Is that the Bear? I’m sure I can see the Bear.’

  Zenya looked hard at the sky. ‘Yes. Ursa Major – the Great Bear. Well done, that woman.’

  ‘She looks like a blessed great grizzly bear in what she’s wearing,’ Michael whispered to Paul, who couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘What star sign are you?’ Emily asked Annie, squinting thoughtfully at the constellations.

  ‘Whichever one is shit at relationships, I guess. My birthday is March thirteenth.’

  ‘Pisces.’ Zenya nodded gently. ‘I’m one, too. Definitely got the creative side, still learning the romance bit.’

  Annie grunted. ‘It’s fish, isn’t it? Probably why men keep slipping through my fingers.’ She took a huge slug of wine from her paper cup.

  ‘I thought there would be more stars on a clear night like this,’ Rita added, leaning back onto her blanket. Paul, who had moved to be nearer the sea, flopped down beside her, cracking open a can of lager. He laughed. ‘Maybe they are just a little shy with all these weirdos staring up at them.’ Rita felt his presence strangely comforting.

  Zenya produced a Tupperware of something homemade and vegan. ‘Moonballs. Oats, dates, almonds, sprinkle of hope and a touch of luck. Help yourself.’

  Michael leaned in. ‘I’m just saying, if anyone starts chanting or howling, you’ll find me lying in the dunes over there.’ Then, on seeing somebody walking right towards them completely in the dark, he jumped. Zenya lifted her torch to see who it was. There was Jude, the quiet and unassuming bookseller, puffing on a vape.