She heard Millie stirring and went to get her, walking past the grandfather clock, which was now keeping up a steady beat as though nothing had happened. When they’d had breakfast Grace decided that the washing-up could wait: it would be good to get outdoors while they had the opportunity, to give Millie some fresh air without snow or rain to impede them. So she put Millie into her sturdy pushchair and set off up the hill.

She found herself slowing as they approached the redbrick house where Ben lived. Grace studied it from the opposite side of the road as she drew closer, remembering what Meredith had said, and trying to imagine what Ben’s wife would be like. She hurriedly put her head down as the front door opened, but she couldn’t help a few sidelong glances in that direction. At the far end of the garden path, a woman with long red hair in a thick woollen coat had emerged through the front door. Ben was behind her, and she turned back to pull him into an embrace. As Grace looked on, Ben wrapped his arms around the woman for a brief moment, before she walked down the path with Bess trotting behind her.

Grace hurried away to avoid being spotted, and continued up the hill. A few moments later a large estate car roared past.

They followed the road, Grace enjoying the fresh air as it rushed into her lungs. As she walked, she found herself relishing the peace and quiet. There was little movement around her, just a few wet sheep huddled together next to a low stone wall. She leaned over the top of the pushchair to see Millie sitting forward, surveying the surroundings. It was nice to be just the two of them, tackling the next phase of their life, striking out together. She couldn’t wait until her daughter started to talk, but Millie only made strange sounds at present, and hadn’t really begun to babble. Grace didn’t know whether to be worried about this or not, since she had no benchmark by which to compare Millie’s progress. As soon as they were settled, they could join a playgroup, so that Millie could meet children of a similar age and grow in confidence. Grace had heard her friends refer to such things, where people talked endlessly about their children’s developments. It sounded exhausting, and while Grace had been pregnant she had imagined all the playdates and coffee mornings she’d be going on with a mixture of enthusiasm and trepidation. However, it seemed all those emotions had been a waste of time, since in the end life hadn’t worked out that way.

Grace kept up a steady pace as her thoughts flitted from one thing to another, and when she eventually refocused on her surroundings she found they were some distance from the cottage. The day was beginning to lose its colour as the clouds swelled and darkened. ‘I guess we should go back,’ she said, leaning over the pushchair again to find that Millie had fallen asleep. She smiled at the sight, and headed for home.

When the row of dwellings came into view, she saw that Ben was leaning over the open bonnet of the Land Rover. He glanced up at her approach, an oily rag in his hand, and then bent over the car again. For a moment Grace thought he was going to ignore her, but as she got closer he stood up, using another cloth to wipe his hands clean.

‘Grace! I’m glad I’ve seen you.’ His voice was loud and deep against the silence of the morning. ‘I did some work on those plans last night. Come in for a moment and I’ll show you how far I’ve got.’

He held the gate open for her, and she wheeled the pushchair down the path. ‘Do you want to leave her here?’ he asked as they reached the porch. He began to open the front door, saying, ‘No, Bess,’ as a large black nose poked eagerly through the gap.

Grace looked behind them at the empty road and felt her nerves clench at the idea of Millie out here alone. ‘I’d rather she was inside,’ she said. ‘Can we lift the pushchair in?’

Ben helped Grace carry Millie’s pushchair into the hallway. Grace checked her daughter was still asleep, then followed Ben, as he gripped Bess’s collar and led them both through to the kitchen. The countertops looked scrupulously clean – unlike the cottage right now, she thought, with its scattered crumbs and half-empty mugs. Bess settled herself on a large square pillow in one corner, while Ben went across to a drawer, pulled out some papers and laid them on the bench in the centre of the room.

‘These are only rough ideas. I’ll need to get measurements of everything, of course. Would you like a drink?’

‘Just some water, please,’ Grace replied, studying the graph paper. There were a few simple line sketches, but on others he had gone further, drawing the entire living room so she could clearly see how his suggestions would work. It was amazing, she thought, that he had remembered so much detail after one visit. The fireplace had become the central feature of the main sitting area, while the wall between the lounge and kitchen was replaced with a bench top that could also be used as a breakfast bar.

Ben brought across a glass of water and put it down in front of her. He glanced at the papers. ‘This area is multi-functional,’ he said, tracing the detail in one of the drawings, ‘but it will make the space downstairs a lot bigger. You could leave the outer stone walls as a feature, rip out the carpet and put in a really nice wooden floor with a big rug. I’d suggest wooden floorboards for the downstairs hallway too – and then replace the carpet on the stairs with something a bit more luxurious. Rebuild the fireplace so that it’s a real feature of the living area, and get a flat-screen TV so that it doesn’t take up unnecessary room.’ He pointed to another corner of the lounge. ‘That nook there, full of books – you could also make much more of that by putting in a few decent shelves with downlights, and adding some ornaments. Fit a seat into the bay window at the front with a few cushions, and the same upstairs. Repaint the hall banister – easy – and then tile the bathroom too if you can stretch to it. The big thing upstairs is adjusting the bedrooms so that the master is at the back, with the better view, and has en suite access. Then it’s just fixtures and fittings, and sorting out the furniture.’

Grace was trying to keep up with him as he flicked through the various sketches. After he’d finished, he looked at her.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to say – this is … amazing. I can’t believe you’ve gone to so much effort and got so far with it already. I’d barely got my head around knocking down the kitchen wall!’ She beamed at him. ‘It’s brilliant! I love it, I can picture it all so well – looking at how you’ve laid it out I couldn’t fail to! I’m completely sold. When can you start? Oh god, please tell me you’re not horribly expensive.’

He laughed, a deep, rich sound Grace hadn’t heard before. ‘Don’t you want to check out some other options first?’

‘Not any more!’ Grace smiled. ‘But I really have to pay you something for all this work, so include it in your price, will you?’

‘No, I said I’d do it for free. As for the rest, I’ll work out the estimated cost for materials. Then how about a hundred pounds a day for the labour? For a full working day, I mean,’ he added. ‘This will all take a good few weeks, so I’m happy to get started as soon as possible.’

Grace was dumbfounded. ‘That sounds like an absolute bargain. I think perhaps you should take a bit of time to think about it, work it out properly.’

Ben’s face became serious again. ‘I have,’ he said. ‘That’s my price. I’m looking forward to doing it, so when do you want me to start?’

‘Well, I guess as soon as possible after New Year, if that’s all right?’ she ventured.

Ben seemed confused. ‘I thought you were keen to get on with it? It’s only the middle of December.’

Grace was taken aback. ‘Well … yes … but I assumed you and your wife would be busy over Christmas. New Year will be fine. I’ve got lots of boxes to go through anyway – you saw the state of the cellar …’