‘We muddled through and hoped we wouldn’t do too much damage in the process.’

I close my eyes against the pull of memory; small faces, laughter, tantrums, hugs, squabbles, the clamber of tiny legs and arms. In a moment I’ll weep. Once the tears flow I’ll need a mop and bucket.

If only Jake hadn’t rung. He sounded so wretchedly drunk. So alone. Why should I care? And that strangled apology. As if regret was going to wipe everything away.

Inside, Daveth is playing with Nessa’s children on their Xbox. We made love this morning. His frame is different to Jake’s, shorter, heavier, sturdier. Seeing him walking naked to the bathroom always shocks me more than our lovemaking. He’s polished mahogany and limber. My body is light, quivering, as if charged with electricity. When I’m with him like this, my blood racing, it’s impossible to think of leaving. But our time together had run its course. My mind has already travelled ahead. Only my body remains to be convinced.

On our last night together we sit on the deck of Eyebright and watch the dance of the aurora borealis. The sky burns red and the ice is touched by tongues of fire. Daveth hands me a small box wrapped in glitter. I remove a ring, Alaskan gold moulded into a forget-me-not flower with a diamond in the centre. He slips it on the ring finger of my right hand and we make love under the eddying waves of green and strobes of purple, moonflowers exploding. When I leave in the morning the colours are still swirling inside my head. A radiant firmament, brief, intense and over.

Chapter 42

Jake

When he first moved into Sea Aster Jake had imagined glimpses of Rosanna. An outline of silver hair if he turned suddenly. A wrinkled hand on the door, her silhouette at the window. Jake did not believe in ghosts, or in an afterlife that allowed them to roam outside his imagination. He had put his experiences down to the shock of losing his house and company, and the ending of this marriage. This feeling had passed but he was now affected by a new sense of invasion. It was different to the gently nudging sensation Rosanna’s presence had created but he was unable to pin it down to anything specific.

Small things bothered him. The family photograph that appeared on the window ledge instead of its usual place on the mantelpiece. The cutlery mixed together in the drawer when it was normally aligned in separate sections. The bed neatly made when he came home one night from a gig. He always found an excuse. Coincidences, lack of concentration. Then there was the incident with his Gibson. It should have been sitting on its stand in the breakfast room. Instead, it was propped against the wall. Absent-mindedness or paranoia? How could he prove which was which?

One morning he was unable to find his fleece. It was too tatty to wear outside but perfect for keeping him warm during the cold snap. It wasn’t in its usual place on the back of the bedroom door. He searched the wardrobe twice, the laundry basket, the barn, the hot press. He was leaving to keep an appointment with Reedy at the Raison D’être studio when he found it under his black leather jacket, the arms tucked inside the jacket sleeves. This made no sense. He never wore it outside. He pulled it free and carried it to the kitchen. Karin had often worn it in the mornings before she showered. He had smelled her perfume and been surprised at how long it lingered in the fabric. When he returned from the studio he took a bottle of white wine from the fridge. It was almost empty yet he could have sworn he had only taken one glass from it the previous evening. His hand shook as he drained the bottle into the sink. He rang a locksmith and the lock was changed by the next day.

Eleanor called unexpectedly in the afternoon. He was working on his laptop, earphones on. His first indication that she was outside came when his mobile vibrated.

‘Please tell me why I can’t get into my own house,’ she demanded when he opened the door. ‘I’ve been ringing the bell for the past five minutes.’

‘Sorry, I forgot to tell you,’ he said. ‘The lock has been changed.’

She arched her eyebrows. ‘Whatever for?’

‘The door wasn’t secure. I was afraid someone might break in.’

‘Like who?’ She followed him into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

‘How do I know? The house is so isolated. You look upset. Is something wrong?’

‘Are you still seeing Karin Moylan?’ she asked.

‘What makes you think I’m seeing – ?’

‘Kindly respect my intelligence, Jake.’

‘I was.’ Nothing would be gained by lying. He checked the press for the china tea set that once belonged to Rosanna. Eleanor refused to drink from a mug. Mugs belonged on building sites and factory canteens, she said. Little rules, big rules. Jake’s childhood had been dominated by them. Hence Shard, rebellion, turbulence, mother-son tension that never abated.

‘We’re not together anymore,’ he said. ‘I ended it before Christmas.’

She nodded, as if her suspicions were confirmed. ‘I assume you knew she was working on our new logo for First Affiliation?’

‘Yes.’

‘She’s talented, I’ll give her that.’ Eleanor acknowledged the cup of tea but made no effort to drink it. ‘Everyone on the executive committee was very impressed.’

‘I’m glad you’re satisfied.’

‘I was satisfied…initially.’

‘Initially? Does that mean you turned her down?’

‘I changed my mind.’

‘Because of my relationship?’

‘My decision had nothing to do with your private life.’

‘Then what?’

‘Her design was far too aggressive for our image.’

Her answer surprised him. Karin was a skilled designer and would have been anxious to impress his mother.

‘What do you mean by “aggressive”?’

She opened her briefcase and handed him a memory key. ‘These are the early designs she did for me.’

He slotted the memory key into his laptop and opened the file. Karin’s first sketches had been drawn in a naive style, two stick-like parents and four children with intertwining circles releasing a blast of sunshine over them.

‘What’s so aggressive about that?’ he asked.

She took a cardboard file from her briefcase and handed him a sheet of paper. ‘Yesterday, I received this in the post from her, along with a letter telling me she wasn’t interested in working with me.’

Jake stared at the sketch. It was a similar configuration to her earlier designs but the children’s expressions were menacing rather than contented and a dark rim eclipsed the brightness of the circle. The dimming of the light surrounding the family unit had been drawn with such savagery that the paper was scored and torn.

‘All I need to know is that she’s definitely gone from your life,’ Eleanor said.

‘Rest assured she is.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She ripped the paper in two and twisted it tightly. ‘Throw that into your rubbish,’ she said. ‘That woman is disturbed. Keep well away from her.’

‘She’s upset you a lot. I can see that. I’m sorry.’

She had always seemed indomitable but she was showing signs of aging, lines settling deeper around her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

‘Apart from Karin, is everything all right,’ he asked. ‘Has there been any further word on the planning permission?’

‘No need to worry about that just yet,’ she replied. ‘You’ve done a good job keeping the house and grounds maintained. I couldn’t have managed without you.’

The unexpected compliment surprised him.

‘How is Nadine enjoying Vancouver?’ she asked.

‘Loving it, I gather.’

‘When is she coming home?’

‘London will be her home.’

‘That’s it then.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised.’

‘I’m not surprised. Just sad.’ She stood up to leave. ‘Family is a precious thing, Jake. Don’t ever take it for granted.’