‘How can anyone make anything so delicious with their own fair hands?’ Sennen mumbled, mouth full and slightly inebriated on the flowing fizz.

  ‘Because I use love,’ Zenya said, taking a slurp from her flute. ‘And three whole bulbs of garlic on this occasion.’

  ‘As long as you didn’t use Mavis, Vera, Blanche or Deirdre,’ Kelly hooted.

  ‘Says the cockerel killer!’ Sennen guffawed.

  ‘I thought I could smell it from the annexe.’ Jude laughed, leaning back, his face flushed, as Teo looked at him adoringly.

  The birthday energy was buzzing, and the table was crowded with food and people Rita loved. She looked around and smiled at Kelly fanning herself with a huge flamenco-type fan that Hilda had lent her, and announcing, ‘I swear if one more person says “perimenopause” to me, I’m moving to Iceland and taking them with me.’

  ‘Not you as well,’ Rita added.

  Hilda, meanwhile, had commandeered the end of the table and was now giving Zenya a detailed description of how Eric had enticed her into his hot tub naked. Laughter rippled between them, cracker gifts were strewn everywhere, and someone had stuck a cherry tomato onto the top of a bottle of Prosecco like it was a party hat.

  It was all joy, all colour, all that Rita had hoped for. All that was missing was her number one son. For it was his birthday too.

  ‘So, when are your next retreat guests arriving?’ Kelly wiped her mouth on a napkin.

  ‘Last week of August, so we’ve got a bit of time,’ Rita said, starting to clear some plates to make way for the cake.

  ‘I still think we should get a mobile sauna in one of the outhouses,’ Teo suggested.

  ‘Maybe. Once that group has paid their way, I’ll take a look.’ Rita sat back down.

  Hilda took a slug of her drink. ‘Because nothing says relaxation like boiling to death in a shed.’

  Rita raised her glass. ‘Before we all get too wasted, I just want to say thank you. To Zenya and Teo, for keeping everything afloat, feeding us, and somehow making this place feel like home and a healthy retreat at the same time.’

  Teo stood and took a small bow. Zenya waved her fork like a queen.

  ‘Oh, and let’s raise a glass for Stan,’ Rita added quickly. ‘His wife’s got a bad cold, and he didn’t want to leave her. But I said we’d save him some cake.’

  ‘Two bits,’ said Teo. ‘One for his wife and one for him being the biggest sweetheart of a man.’

  Zenya nodded. ‘Done. I’ll label them. FOR STAN: DO NOT TOUCH, EVEN IF YOU’RE DRUNK.’

  She then slipped out the back without a word, and a moment later returned, carrying the birthday cake in both hands. A glorious, slightly lopsided Victoria sponge crowned with candles, the last strawberries from the garden and oodles of clotted cream.

  ‘We ready?’ She grinned.

  Everyone leaned in, the flickering flames dancing on Sennen’s face. She blinked quickly, trying to hold it together, but her eyes were already welling.

  ‘Oi,’ said Rita gently, nudging her side. ‘It’s unlucky to cry on your birthday.’

  ‘It’s not just my birthday, though, is it?’ Sennen whispered, eyes on the candles. ‘It’s our birthday. Mine and Thom’s.’

  And then, just as the first notes of ‘Happy Birthday’ filled the room, the flap of the Snack Shack marquee flew open. And to Rita’s joy, Thomas Jory stood there, all six foot two of him, auburn hair catching the light, looking more like Archie with every passing day. His eyes immediately searched for his sister. ‘Happy birthday, Thomas and Sennen!’ he sang out, not missing a note as his voice joined the chorus.

  Sennen laughed. Rita felt her heart skip a beat.

  The song ended in a ragged cheer. Teo clapped. Jude blew an invisible trumpet. Zenya set the cake down triumphantly, then handed Sennen a knife.

  ‘Make a wish,’ Kelly shouted.

  Sennen glanced at her brother. ‘Already did.’

  Later, when the cake was half eaten, the sun slipping into the horizon, and the Prosecco bottles mostly empty, Rita found Thom standing at the edge of the orchard, facing the fields and the wide shimmering stretch of sea beyond.

  She walked towards him quietly. ‘Did you get some cake?’

  He nodded, not turning. Just stared out over the trees now promising their crops of apples, pears and plums. A lone gull passed overhead, reminding them they were very much in the moment.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Thom said eventually, his voice low. ‘I’ve been a bit of a mess since… everything. And I can’t even imagine how much I’ve hurt you.’

  Rita breathed in slowly. ‘Let’s sit.’

  They sat on the bench seat at the end of the orchard. Thom took a visible breath. ‘I’ve avoided the farm because it reminded me too much of Dad.’

  ‘I understand.’ Rita reached for his hands across the table, and he let her hold them.

  ‘I didn’t know how to talk about him or Jago. The will. Any of it. And then after me sending that letter to you… and Sennen letting me know about Teo… well, even with your message to come today… it was just… easier not to call.’

  Rita looked at him, properly looked, and saw the little boy he used to be, wild-haired, fiercely loyal, and now pouring out a heart that had always seemed too big for his chest. Her Thomas was back.

  ‘Thom, it’s OK,’ Rita soothed.

  ‘No. It’s not, Mum, let me finish. I knew too much. A few years ago, I overheard a conversation between Dad and another man. Dad had his phone on speaker… he was in the barn… he didn’t know I was outside… and I listened… and I wish I hadn’t. And I didn’t really understand what it was about, until Dad died and then I realised that someone else may be getting some of our share – mine and Sennen’s, and I didn’t think it fair. And I so appreciate you emailing me the will, to put it straight and…’

  Rita sighed deeply. This wasn’t the time to tell Thomas that he had another uncle in Jago and that he had been the other man at the end of the phone. ‘And when you saw Jago that time I spotted you… was it really that the sheep had escaped?’

  ‘Yes, yes, that was all true. Jago didn’t say a word to me. Nobody is planning to take the farm from under you. I’ve ended all the solicitor representation. I’m such a twat!’

  ‘It broke me.’ Rita couldn’t help it. ‘To know my son was trying to oust me out of my own house.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ Thom begged. ‘I realise now I didn’t really want the money, or for you to sell. I just didn’t want a complete stranger getting something, especially as I realised that you probably knew nothing about it. I just want to know that you’re OK. That we’re OK. I love you, Mum, and I’m going to come and see you more. I promise.’

  ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’ Rita was more measured now.

  ‘I haven’t been the best son, I know that. I’m driven, my job is important and when Dad went… I couldn’t face it here. I miss him so much, so I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you.’

  Rita thought of not being able to walk into the big lounge for nine months. ‘I get it. I really do. And we’re OK. Even when we’re messy. You’re my son, for God’s sake.’

  Thomas hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small jewellery box. He held it out to her, voice thick. ‘I… I know it’s silly, but I wanted you to have this.’

  Rita blinked, confused. He opened it, revealing a delicate necklace sparkling in the fading light, an exact replica of the one Archie had given her for her thirtieth birthday, lost in the mud months ago. Her throat tightened.

  ‘Dad would have done the same,’ Thom said, voice breaking, eyes glistening. ‘I just… I wanted you to have it.’

  Rita felt tears sting, warm and sudden. She took the box and pressed it to her chest. ‘Oh, Thom… We will never forget him, love. He will always be part of us.’

  Thom got up, lifted his mum off the bench seat, then surprised them both by pulling her into a tight bear hug. A hug that didn’t ask for anything other than his mother’s love.

  FIFTY

  It was just after ten the next day when Stan turned up at the farm, unannounced as ever, in his usual uniform of sun-faded cords and an old jumper, despite it being twenty-five degrees. He stood in the kitchen doorway with a paper bag in hand. Everyone else was still in bed, he assumed, since the celebrations hadn’t finished until the early hours.

  ‘Mrs Jory. I’ve brought you a slice of Mrs Bodkin’s bread and butter pudding and a nudge, as I’m thinking you might need both this morning.’

  Rita stopped loading the dishwasher and laughed. ‘You’re so right. Far too much fun was had by all. And what do you mean by a nudge?’

  He stepped inside and set the bag on the table. ‘Might be worth taking a walk up to the Singing Tree, that’s all I’m saying.’

  Her heart did a tiny somersault. ‘Why?’

  He just shrugged. ‘Call it a hunch. Or maybe a whisper from someone who’s not quite done saying what they wanted to say.’

  Rita’s mouth fell open. ‘Stan, was it you who’s been leaving messages for me in the Singing Tree?’

  The friendly farmhand winked. ‘All I’m going to say to that question, Mrs Jory, is ask no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.’

  Rita sped up to the High Meadow in the Jimny. The breeze was up. The sea in the distance looked like a shaken sheet, glinting in the morning light. She felt absurdly nervous.

  The note was tucked into the crevice where the others had been. Folded neatly. Her name written on the outside, this time in handwriting she recognised.

  She opened it slowly, hardly daring to breathe, and began to read.

  Dear Rita,

  ‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers

  That perches in the soul –

  And sings the tune without the words –

  And never stops – at all –

  If you still feel what I think you feel, meet me here at sunrise on Sunday.

  Here’s hoping.

  Jago X

  She stared at the words, her throat catching. Then, as she ran her fingers across the etching on Archie’s bench, the tears came. The wind whispered through the branches, like the tree was urging her to believe it would all be OK. She folded the note carefully, held it to her chest for a minute and then, slowly, reached for her wedding ring. With trembling fingers, she turned it once, twice, then slid it from her finger. For a moment, she simply stared at it in her palm, so small, and yet it had held so much. Then, reaching into the tree’s natural cubby hole, she placed the ring inside. Her voice cracked as she whispered to the wind, ‘I will always love you, Archie Jory.’

  FIFTY-ONE

  Later that day, Rita insisted Sennen and Thomas come with her in the Jimny to their favourite beach. As the little blue car rattled and bounced along the coast road, the three of them were jostled, laughter bubbling out, at each bend that was taken.

  ‘Is this thing even road legal?’ Thomas grunted, bracing a hand on the dashboard as they hit another dip and managing to stop his head from bashing the roof. ‘Why don’t you use Dad’s… the Land Rover, I mean, it must be a lot safer.’

  ‘Because Jimmy and I have a very close relationship,’ Rita announced, deftly parking up as near to the beach as she could. Thomas turned in his seat and exchanged a cheeky wink with his sister, quietly amused by their mother’s declaration.

  The morning was humid and close. A blanket of low grey cloud hung over the bay, threatening a summer storm. The tide was far out, leaving behind a vast expanse of damp, rippled sand streaked with glistening seaweed and pools that reflected the dull sky. The air smelled faintly of the earlier rain.

  ‘Now I don’t want you to think your mother is going mad, although she clearly has recently, but we did this at our moonlight mantras session during the first retreat.’

  Sennen glanced at Thomas, amused. ‘What is it? Cold-water swimming? I really don’t want to go in there on a day like this.’

  ‘Worse.’ Rita grinned, pulling a drawstring pouch from her coat pocket. ‘Woo-woo stuff.’

  ‘Woo-woo, what?’ Thomas frowned.

  The beach was surprisingly quiet apart from a few dog walkers in the distance. Rita led them down towards the tideline.

  ‘Everyone picks a stone,’ she explained, handing the pouch to Sennen. ‘Then you hold it, and you say, or think, something you want to leave behind. Or something you’re ready to welcome in. Then you lob it into the sea.’

  Thomas gave a dry smile. ‘And the sea magically fixes our lives?’

  ‘No, love,’ she said gently. ‘But it helps to say it aloud. To let it go.’

  ‘Can you imagine what Dad would have said about this?’ Sennen laughed.

  ‘Yes…’ Rita smiled, eyes misting as she clutched her pebble. ‘He’d probably tell us we were a bunch of sentimental fools and ask if he could go to the Winking Pilchard instead.’

  They each took a pebble. For a moment, the three stood in silence, staring out at the endless horizon.

  ‘I’ll go first.’ Sennen turned the stone over in her hand, then closed her eyes. ‘I want to stop pretending everything’s fine all the time. I want to be allowed to feel things and talk to either of you about it when I can’t process it myself.’

  She threw the stone with a firm, clean arc. Rita looked up to quell her tears.

  Thomas looked down at his. He swallowed. ‘I want to forgive myself and be forgiven fully for the way I treated my mother. I was angry, and I didn’t say the right things. I want to do better as a son from now on.’

  He sent the pebble skipping.

  Rita smiled at them both. ‘I want to believe I can still make good choices. To be always ready for open and honest conversation with my children and believe in myself that it’s OK to let other people in.’

  Her stone made a soft plop as it disappeared beneath the surface.

  They stood together for a moment longer, the wind tugging at their jackets.

  ‘Right then.’ Rita brushed her hands together. ‘Tea and cake in Betty’s Tearoom?’

  ‘Always,’ Sennen shouted.

  ‘Can we listen to my music on the way there?’ Thomas asked.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Rita slipped quietly out of the farmhouse, the door clicking shut behind her. The world outside was hushed, suspended in that soft grey stillness of civil twilight, the fleeting time when night had loosened its grip, but day had yet to take hold. Even at this unearthly hour, she’d put on mascara and lipstick, a summery floral dress, and her old denim jacket.

  As she crested the hill, a slow bloom of colour began to stretch across the horizon.

  Jago was already there, sitting on Archie’s bench beneath the Singing Tree. Hands clasped between his knees, head bowed like a man in prayer. When he looked up, his eyes met hers, full of that complicated warmth that had begun to rise between them in recent weeks.

  She walked the last few steps toward him, slow and cautious.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you’d come,’ Jago said, smiling softly.

  ‘I wasn’t sure either,’ she replied. ‘But I needed to know what this is. Whether it’s real… or just grief playing tricks on us.’

  He tapped the bench beside him. ‘You timed it perfectly. Look.’

  Slowly, the sun began to rise, inching up from the edge of the sea like a great golden coin being pushed through the surface of the world.

  ‘I’ll never tire of this,’ Rita murmured.

  ‘And I’ll never tire of you.’ He took her hand and kissed it gently. ‘A new start. A new day, Rita Jory.’ The dimple appeared. ‘And whenever you’ve got a spare second, minute, hour, month, year… I want to spend it with you.’ He looked at her through his impossible lashes. ‘I meant what I said the other night. My love for you is real. I didn’t plan any of this. But you’re just so damn beautiful, how could I not?’

  Rita gave a sad smile, folding her arms against the morning chill. ‘You should’ve just told me everything.’

  ‘I know,’ he said quietly. ‘I was scared. Scared it would end this before it even began.’

  She let out a long breath. ‘I loved him, you know. With everything I had. And he loved me. He really did.’

  ‘I know.’ Jago’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘I saw it. I envied it.’

  Rita brushed her fingers along the edge of the bench.

  ‘He’s gone, but he’s still everywhere. In the sea. In this tree. In Thomas’s stubbornness. In Sennen’s laugh. But he’s not here, not in this moment. Not in this… ache I feel when I see you and don’t know what to do with it.’

  Jago reached out and tipped her chin up, kissing her softly on the lips. ‘I’ll never replace him, Rita.’

  ‘I know that.’ She nodded. ‘But I want you to know this isn’t just because you remind me of him. You’ve shown me who you are. Helping with the yurts, paying for Stan’s time, the marquee, delivering Vince and Billy, the flowers to wish me well… You’re a good man, Jago Jenken.’

  He stood and helped her to her feet. ‘So… what do we do with it?’

  She looked up at him, eyes glassy but calm. ‘I think… we stop running. From this. From ourselves.’

  When he leaned in and kissed her, she didn’t think, she just melted. Warm lips, and the sexy feeling of a night’s stubble against her cheek. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie.

  Somewhere behind them, a blackbird startled into flight.

  Rita pulled away, breathless. ‘The yurts are unlocked,’ she whispered. ‘You know if we wanted to… talk more. Or maybe not talk.’

  ‘Oh very much not talk,’ he replied, his expression smouldering.

  They ran. Giggling like teenagers, hand in hand across the field. The grass was damp underfoot, the air crisp and clear. Rita’s laugh echoed across the High Meadow far louder than she meant it to be. Jago ducked through the flap, holding it open for her like a gentleman, even though his eyes said something far less chivalrous. The yurt was dim inside. The air cool, but neither of them noticed. Rita tugged his top off. He pulled her dress over her head. Clothes were strewn across the rug. For a moment they just stared at each other, half naked, breathless, vulnerable. It was clumsy at first, arms knocking, knees bumping, a low laugh here, a whispered ‘hang on’ there, but it was real, raw, breathless sex that came not from lust alone but a measured understanding of each other and what was to come.