Claire knew she had to hold things together for Nina. At six, her daughter was well able to understand what was going on and of course she was grieving too; she’d loved her Grandpa. And Claire knew helping Nina was the best way to help herself. Having little rituals – lighting Grandpa’s candle when it got dark, looking at a star for Grandpa, taking care of Grandpa’s garden – it all helped create a sense of continuity.

The awkward part was that losing her grandfather so unexpectedly prompted Nina to ask a whole lot of questions about her supposedly dead father, and Claire was hard put to find answers. How she wished she’d never started this; she should have told Nina from the beginning that Daddy had been bad to them and that was why they never saw him now. It was dreadful, lying to her child like this. Worse still, Nina soon noticed that her mother didn’t enjoy these ‘Daddy’ conversations and stopped asking about him, which only increased Claire’s guilt. Fortunately Lily, who had never approved of the lie and was now the only other person in Scotland who knew that Robert was alive, refused to speak about him to Nina, saying ‘I don’t remember, ask your mum,’ when Nina tried to talk about the Bedford years.

Claire turned back into the kitchen, crossing the room to touch the photo stuck on the fridge with a magnet. Mum, Dad and Nina on the top of Goatfell, the highest peak on the island; she’d taken it the day Nina walked up for the first time. Pride was shining from her father’s face as he stood there with ‘his girls’. Claire turned away before Nina noticed what she was doing. Fathers were an awkward subject. Of course Robert himself had wanted the break to be complete, which said everything about the kind of father he was, but still… Nina had never had the opportunity to love her father. It wasn’t fair. Look at Bethany down the road, with a Dad and two Grandpas and several strapping uncles all living close by on the island. Claire rubbed her eyes.

‘Mummy? Are you okay?’

Nina was standing behind her, a sweet, concerned expression on her face. A lump rose in Claire’s throat and she kissed the wrinkled little brow. ‘I’m fine, lovey. I was remembering your Grandpa. It’s good to remember, you know, even if it makes you sad. Come on, let’s make some scones for teatime.’

Nina allowed herself to be distracted, but Claire’s thoughts were in turmoil as she measured out flour and butter. Remembering Robert and his wealth brought home their own financial situation. Her parents’ Edinburgh semi hadn’t sold well; it was in need of what the estate agent had called ‘some modernisation’, and the market was sluggish. They’d wanted a good ten thousand more than they eventually accepted. Claire didn’t want to put all Robert’s cash into the farmhouse in case she needed it later for Nina, so the renovation was on hold in the meantime, which meant the B&B venture wasn’t bringing in as much cash as it could.

But it was Robert more than the money that was the real worry. Claire hated the stupid, false situation she was in. Nina thought her father was dead, and that was just – wrong, and now the child was old enough to understand more it might be time to put things right. It had been three years now, Robert could have changed. Maybe she should find out what he was doing these days. It was something to consider, anyway.

 Claire put the tray of scones into the oven and was setting the timer when a new, terrible thought struck her so hard she actually staggered. Dear Lord – what if she died as suddenly as her father? What would happen to Nina then? Lily with her arthritis would be pushed to cope with a six-year-old… It wouldn’t take much investigation for anyone concerned to find out that Nina’s father was alive and well – the poor child could end up living in that awful old house with the father she believed was dead.

The thought almost took Claire’s breath away. Definitely, they would have to change things. If Nina got to know Robert a little, she would be prepared if anything did happen to her mother.

‘You’re being daft, lass. You’re not going to die anytime soon.’ Claire could almost hear her father’s voice, and oh, how she wanted to believe that, how very much she wanted to think she’d be there for her girl until Nina was a grown woman and could take care of herself. Fear swirled round Claire’s head; she could land under a car next time she went down the Bay for the shopping. No one knew what the future held.

That evening Claire wrote a letter to Robert, asking if he would consider seeing Nina if they went down to London for a weekend.

In the morning she tore it up.

Chapter Fourteen

Saturday 22nd July

Nina could have guessed Sam’s mother was Italian even if she hadn’t been told. Cascata Harrison was small and plump with dark hair piled on top of her head, and shiny brown eyes that lit up when she saw Naomi. Surrounded by grandchildren, she looked like a typical Italian Mamma and Nonna, and she obviously revelled in her role. For a moment Nina felt as if she’d landed in one of those Hollywood perfect-happy-family rainy-Sunday-afternoon kind of films. No sooner had she thought this than the youngest child, a toddler of about eighteen months, brought reality right back to centre stage by being sick on the kitchen floor.

‘Welcome to the madhouse,’ Sam said to Nina as a younger woman rushed to help the child.

Sam’s mother rolled her eyes, shut the door on the clean-up operation and squeezed both Nina’s hands before turning to Naomi.

‘So this is Naomi. What gorgeous hair. You’ll break a few hearts before you’re too much older,’ she said in faultless English, kissing Naomi on both cheeks.

‘You don’t sound Italian,’ said Naomi, and Glen Harrison clapped the little girl’s shoulder.

‘Well spotted. She hasn’t actually lived there since she was five,’ he said.

‘But I go back every year for a holiday,’ said his wife, taking Nina’s jacket. ‘Call me Cassie, Nina, everyone does. Sam told us you have a lot of business – we can take care of Naomi as much as you need us to. All you have to do is ask.’

It was impossible not to like Sam’s parents, thought Nina, watching them fuss over their son and joke with each other. This was what she’d never been part of, a big normal family having fun with each other. And yet they weren’t quite a normal family, with dark-skinned Sam and his white adoptive parents. But the love was there; she could see it shining out of Sam’s face when he spoke to his mother. And the pride in Glen Harrison’s eyes when he listened to Sam talking about last week’s court case was unmistakable. You didn’t need to share blood to be a family.

Sam’s two sisters, their husbands, and five children ranging in age from one to nine were all in the garden, running around, helping to lay the table and arguing good-naturedly.

Cassie took Nina’s arm. ‘Come and help me with the salads. We’ll leave Sam to sort out the drinks with his Dad.’

Nina looked outside where Naomi was playing with Sam’s oldest niece, throwing balls for Cassie’s dog, a Westie named Kira. A dog had been top of Naomi’s wish-list for ages, and Nina smiled ruefully as she followed Cassie into the kitchen. ‘Let’s get a dog’ would be topic of the week now.

‘Sam said you’re having problems getting your father’s estate settled. I’m sorry for your loss,’ said Cassie, removing plastic containers from the fridge and transferring their contents into a series of bowls.

Nina leaned on the worktop, sighing inwardly. Cassie’s motherly presence and her words brought back exactly what she’d lost, and it wasn’t John Moore. Sam had been discreet, so Cassie presumably didn’t know about Claire’s death. Nina straightened up and gave Cassie a smile. Sympathetic as Sam’s mum was, this just wasn’t the time. The realisation that she had no one in Bedford to confide in struck anew.