CHAPTER TWENTY HARRIET WENTWORTH

CHAPTER TWENTY

H ARRIET W ENTWORTH

A UGUST 2024

Harriet Wentworth was scrubbing the bath. Bent over with the sponge in her hand, her back twinged as she completed the hated chore. Despite her best efforts, and even having resorted to bribery in the past, her teenage sons Louis and Rafe seemed immune to the desire to clean the dark ring of dirt that gathered in the tub. Not that her husband was much better! Thankfully, they were all barred from the en-suite shower room she claimed as her own. The only person allowed to use that was Dilly, her darling daughter, when she came to stay, which was a rare occurrence now she was joined at the hip to Parker, her beloved. Harriet smiled. She really liked Parker and hoped his family were welcoming Dilly in Boston. Her daughter had followed her English professor over there for love and was now about to give birth to Harriet's first grandchild. It hardly seemed possible! It was difficult to picture Dilly as anything other than her little bookworm. Her boys found it hilarious that their mum was also going to be a grandma, and Charles too had voiced his concern on what it might be like to sleep with a gran – she'd chased him out of the bedroom with a raised slipper. She might be a grandmother-in-waiting but she was still rather nifty on her feet.

‘Harry!' Charles bellowed up the stairs as was his custom, using the nickname he'd given her shortly after they'd met. ‘Bear's here!'

‘Oh fab! Coming!' Her face broke into a smile as it did whenever her eldest child returned home. He'd texted to say he was inbound, hence the emergency tub scrub in his honour. Not that she was short of kids – when the twins weren't playing rugby, talking about rugby, watching rugby, or checking stats on their various devices about rugby, her house was full of the actual rugby team, muddy knees and all. The fact that they didn't live in the largest or grandest of houses was neither here nor there; her house was, apparently, the one people liked to congregate in. Not that she minded. In fact, she loved the chaos, the chatter, the laughter. It meant life! A quick glance in the mirror on the landing confirmed her rather dishevelled appearance, hair grey at the temples – not that she had time to fix it and not that Bear would give a fig either way.

‘Coming!' she yelled again as she raced down the stairs, wiping her damp hands on the thighs of her jeans. ‘Hello, darling!' She smiled at the sight of her floppy-haired boy who sat with his back to her on a stool at the kitchen island. Charles caught her eye and she noted his look of concern, his gaze a little lingering, as if giving her a sign she was quite unable to decipher. He did this a lot, as though he could telepathically relay what he was trying to say. It was maddening. She knitted her eyebrows in confusion as he reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of cold beer.

‘Here we go, mate.' Her husband plonked the bottles down on to the island as Ed turned to greet her.

‘Oh, love!' Her heart twisted at the sight of him and suddenly Charles's message came through loud and clear: Bear is upset. Very upset. His eyes were red raw from crying, his nose snotty. ‘What on earth? What's happened?' Walking forward, she cradled him to her. He might be a grown man of twenty-nine, but he was still her son, and this was what she did best – administered love where and when she could.

‘I've really messed up, Mum.'

‘You have? How?' Her thoughts raced as she tried to figure out what possibly could have caused this level of distress. Had he bashed the car, rowed with Petra, got fired? Nothing insurmountable, she was sure; it was just a case of holding him close and finding the solution. ‘What's happened, love?' she pressed, wanting the information right this minute to stop her thoughts from racing.

‘I've ... met someone.' It was not what she'd expected to hear and her mouth fell open as the significance of these three little words sunk in.

‘You've met someone?' Charles was slow on the uptake and she fired a look at him. He slunk back on his stool and sipped his beer.

‘A woman.' Bear clarified for his stepfather.

‘A different woman to the one you're engaged to?'

‘Yes, Charles! Obviously!' she tutted and rubbed her son's back as he actually laughed.

‘I bloody love you, Charles.' Her son sniffed.

‘The feeling is entirely mutual, boy, even if it takes me a wee while to catch on!' He raised his bottle in a toast. Despite the flair of love she felt for this man, she chose not to comment, hoping that for her son, this meeting of ‘a woman' did not mean infidelity. She knew too well the cold cut of pain such an action could cause and still, after all these years, felt the lance of betrayal at the thought. She pictured Petra, who had always seemed a little besotted.

‘Come through to the sitting room, darling. We can sit in the comfy chairs and you can tell me all about it.' She thought this might be the best and most private place to talk.

‘I'll do the dishes and I'll keep the human wrecking balls out when they come home,' Charles offered. She was thankful for this sweet, sweet man she had married nearly sixteen years ago.

‘Come on.' She walked slowly with her hand on his back, turning to mouth Thank you! to Charles as they left the room. He blew her a kiss in reply. It landed on her cheek and was soft and inclusive and spoke of unconditional love.

Bear settled on one end of the squidgy sofa, which took up a large chunk of the square room, and she clicked on the lamp that sat on the side table, before taking a seat at the other end and folding her legs beneath her.

‘What's going on, Bear?' she asked gently, while her whole being itched with the need to hear the detail.

‘I don't know where to begin.' He bit his lip as if to quell further tears and she was so powerfully reminded of the little boy who had wept when she'd packed up a bag and headed off to stay with her sister, promising with her whole heart to be back in three sleeps, that it almost took her breath away. Nerves fluttered in her stomach, not a familiar feeling when addressing her boy, but that was by the by. The thought that his behaviour might echo Hugo's was as unsettling as it was worrying. The topic itself enough to take her back to that time she chose not to revisit. Not ever.

‘Start at the beginning. And take your time.'

Her son took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. Displays like this were rare for him in recent years, and from this alone she understood the magnitude of his feelings. It was hard to see him so distressed, but at the same time she rather admired his openness. This was in itself a world away from Hugo's shady secret life of infidelity, which, the first time it had happened, had come as the greatest shock, but thereafter was no more than a rather sad expectation. It was, she thought, an uncomfortable way to live. And one that she, long after she had extricated her life from his, still felt the consequences of.

Like those moments when Charles, her beloved Charles, was late or didn't answer a call, and the breath caught in her throat, not necessarily thinking that he too might be a philanderer, but aware of how these things came out of the blue, like a barking dog coming at you in the dark. No matter that it was tethered or friendly, it made your heart jump just the same. And that tiny nagging sliver of self-doubt that if she hadn't been able to stop Hugo from straying, why was it going to be different with any other man? What exactly had she done wrong? Had she inadvertently driven him to it? And if she didn't know, how could she avoid doing it again? All this before she started on the deep gash that ran across her heart and her trust, a cut that had only ever partially healed, so deep was the injury. An injury sustained in a battle she had never believed she would have to enter – the shock of it as great as the fight itself.

‘Let's start with Petra,' she suggested.

Having watched him struggle, she offered the prompt and spoke the name of the sweet girl who Hugo and Ramona seemed positively dotty about.

‘It all happened so fast, Mum.' He took his time.

‘The engagement?' she queried, not quite understanding as the two had been dating on and off since they were twenty. Nothing about it felt rushed.

He nodded.

‘Petra's mother came to stay with Dad and Ramona for the weekend.' Harriet chose not to voice how this sounded ‘cosy', knowing it was pure jealousy on her part which was neither attractive nor founded. She could, of course, make more effort with Petra's mother and invite her over, as long as the invite didn't have to include Ramona. She found the woman to be impossibly loud and opinionated. This too she kept to herself.

‘They were all drinking wine, Dad was in his element, Petra and I were joining in, and it was great. And then Ramona said wasn't it about time we tied the knot, took things up a gear – I don't know exactly what she said, I can't remember. It was more a joke than anything and I think I agreed and laughed, and the next thing I know' – he gave a slow blink – ‘Ramona's opening a bottle of champagne, Petra's mum is crying and texting her friends and Dad's ferreting about in that attic to try and find Granny Stratton's ring!'

‘So ...' It sounded ghastly and bloody typical of Hugo, running headlong at a hundred miles an hour no matter the consequences. It was a thing she'd loved about him in their youth, a wild and exciting adventure, but when stability and a clear plan were needed, it was the very opposite of endearing. She was aware of treading carefully, delicately, as expressing a personal opinion that might alienate Bear could have a disastrous effect. Plus, if there was any chance of him smoothing things over with Petra, she needed to leave all pathways open. ‘Is it that you don't want to get married at all, or you have doubts about Petra or are fearful of the change, or ... ?'

‘I did want to be with Petra,' he confessed. ‘I figured even though marriage hadn't really been on my mind, it kind of made sense. We've been together for a long time and all our friends have been saying it's the next logical step and Jack and Fi have got married, so ...'

His lukewarm tone and mild justification was alarming. There was none of the unbridled joy or eagerness for this shared future that she believed was an entry-level requirement for such a step, only confirming the doubts she'd felt when she'd heard the news a month or so ago. Petra had squealed her joy, while Bear, his face pale, stared at his fiancée as if in shock.

‘And Petra was so happy and that made me happy and I thought it was enough.'

‘Your happiness is just as important, more important to me because you're my son.'

He gave a brief nod. ‘And then I started to feel the most overwhelming sense of burden, like this huge weight crushing me from the inside out. I could hardly breathe!' He placed his hand on his heart, in the way she'd seen Hugo do. Was this how he had felt? ‘I didn't want to go to work, I didn't want to go home, the flat felt like a prison and so I quit my job. Told Petra I needed to go and get my head straight, and she was great, supportive.'

‘Yes.' Harriet was glad of this; Petra was a lovely girl.

‘As you know, I went to Ilfracombe and then ...' He looked up towards the ceiling and his shoulders slumped, as a smile formed on his mouth, this followed by the trickle of more tears.

‘Then what, Bear?'

‘Then I met someone, a woman, who has smashed my world into a million pieces. Everything I thought I knew and everything I thought I wanted is on the floor in fragments and I know the only way to build back up again, to construct my future happiness, is to do it with her.'

‘Wow! That's ...' She had so many questions it was hard to know which one to lead with. ‘That's quite the statement!' She was torn, knowing all too well what it felt like to be the one discarded for something new and shiny.

‘It is, but it's the truth. Not that it matters; she doesn't want me. Not now. Petra turned up and told her we were engaged and at the very least I now know I can't marry Petra, can't be with Petra, and yet I've lost the woman I love. And that's the bones of it, Mum. As I said, a bloody mess.'

It was a lot to take in. He sounded romantic, fanciful, and yet Bear had always known his own mind and she either trusted his judgement or she didn't – there were, in her view, no degrees of trust.

‘Does Petra know?' she asked softly.

‘She knows I can't marry her.' His lip wobbled again as a precursor to tears. ‘I haven't told her the full story; I don't want to be cruel and I figured it best to go one step at a time.'

‘Oh, love.' She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Is she with her family or her friends?' She couldn't stand to think of the girl heartbroken and alone, knowing very well what that felt like, able even now to recall the desperate, hollow ache of rejection that still had the power to jump up out of nowhere and jab her in the chest.

‘Her mum's on the way and Fi is with her right now – they've been close since uni. We drove back earlier and I dropped her at the flat and I told her as gently as possible that I couldn't marry her and she was obviously upset and it's so shitty to know I've made her feel that way.'

‘Regardless of what else or who else is involved or what happens next, you've done the right thing in telling her. She deserves your honesty.'

Reflection over the years had taught her that one of the hardest aspects of her marriage collapse had been Hugo's lack of transparency, having to peel layers away until the truth was exposed. How much easier, kinder on them all, if he had had the courage to be open, truthful, allowing her to see the full picture and make decisions accordingly. She wanted Bear to be different, would guide him to be different.

‘I know that, Mum. And then I just wanted to come and see you.'

This the biggest, best compliment that made joy bloom in her chest. Their closeness hard won after her and Hugo's separation. Long after the ink had dried on their divorce papers, Hugo's spontaneity and lack of strategy meant she often had to step in and reassure her kids that all was going to be well. It irritated her at the time, but she could see the result sitting in front of her – the trust of her son – and it was worth every second when she'd cursed her ex-husband as a new crisis loomed. Her words had always been conciliatory, reassuring – keeping things as positive as possible for the children's sake, as they'd long ago agreed.

‘ Wendy's moving in? It'll be fine! '

‘ Sherry's having a baby, well isn't that exciting! '

‘ Ramona means well, she's fun! '

And every time her reassurance was needed, her kids looked little again, sitting on the sofa in Corner Cottage while she told them things were going to change. How she hated that these moments were so clear in her memory – jagged things with which she tried to grapple, but still had the power to send ripples of sadness right through her.

Harriet twisted now and came closer to her boy. Again she held him close and let him weep.

‘Bear!' Rafe came crashing into the room and stopped short at the sight of his big brother sobbing in his mother's arms. ‘Oh shit! Has someone died?'

‘No, darling.' Harriet released Ed, who sat up straight and wiped his face. ‘No one died. Bear's just going through something a little tricky and he needs our love, our support.'

‘Have you got cancer?'

‘Rafe, no!' she tutted. ‘People can be upset without it being death or cancer! Although of course those would be two very good reasons to be upset.'

They shared a moment of understanding at the blunderbuss that was Rafe Wentworth.

‘Do you want a beer?'

Her eldest laughed at the offer from her fourteen-year-old who was not allowed to drink and had never, to her knowledge, offered a guest a beer. ‘No, but thanks, mate. I'll come out in a bit, just chatting to Mum.'

It warmed her heart to see her sons so caring of each other, thankful every day for their easy camaraderie.

‘We could watch the rugby sevens; I've got it recorded!' Rafe's face lit up at the prospect.

‘I'd love that,' Bear lied and she loved him for it.

Once Rafe had closed the door, Bear seemed a little more relaxed, as if his tears had been cathartic.

‘What's he like?' Bear chuckled as he wiped his face.

‘A nightmare! They both are!' She smiled, full of love for this second round of motherhood, a gift that arrived when she'd least expected it.

‘I've never experienced anything like it, Mum. This girl ...'

‘So what happened? How did you meet? Tell me all about her.'

Harriet felt a stab of worry. Bear was a reliable, kind and gentle man, yet this seemingly all-encompassing, impetuous infatuation was so redolent of Hugo it was worrying. The last thing she wanted was for her son to lead a life like his dad, where the newest, shiniest thing was the most appealing and damn the consequences or the trail of destruction he left in his wake. Not that Bear was like his dad in that sense, but she'd be lying if she didn't admit this was a concern. It was, however, impossible not to feel the power in his words, and she was keen to learn about this woman who had smashed his world into a million pieces.

‘I was up early and went for a wander down to Hele Bay Beach.'

‘I know it.'

She felt the familiar shiver whenever she thought about that town in North Devon and that terrible time in her life when loneliness and devastation had been her constant partners. How her weight had plummeted, and Ellis, her lifeline, had offered advice down the phone, and all the time she was smiling so hard that she thought her face might crack while her heart broke. It was an act she continued until she met Charles. It wasn't until he told her quite plainly to stop smiling when she felt like crying; to be open, vulnerable, and to know it wasn't a weakness, but was, in fact, a strength, that she was finally able to confront the fear that if she took her hand off the tiller, the whole family would flail against the rocks. It was a lovely way to live, safe in the knowledge that he understood all humans were flawed, fallible. Yet still, there was that paper cut of worry that she was in some way to blame, and just the thought that she might at some point in the future find herself once again on the edge of the abyss was almost more than she could stand.

She focused now on Bear.

‘I hadn't been to Hele before, but walked out towards Hillsborough, dropped down over the headland and there was the bay. It was really quiet and there were a couple of people swimming and ...' He paused and looked directly at her. ‘And I know this is going to sound weird and if it was someone saying it to me, I'd think it was bullshit, but I kind of felt her before I saw her. She walked out of the water and came towards me, and it was like a firecracker going off in my chest. I could hear this sound, like a note, like music, like ... I don't know, clarity. Yeah, like clarity, as if the fog cleared in my mind. And this is the crazy bit,' he qualified, ‘after one chat, which was unremarkable in content really, I'd have gone anywhere with her. Anywhere. I wanted to hold her, to talk to her, to be with her. And she's been in my mind and behind my eyelids ever since.'

‘Bear!' It was fascinating and she had no doubt about his strength of feeling, yet his quick-fire switch from Petra set alarm bells ringing.

‘ Are you having an affair? '

‘ What a bloody ridiculous thing to say to me! No! '

Hugo's first denial, a lie that came so easily – and all that had followed.

‘I even sounded out her situation, one of the first things I ever said to her was, "You swim alone? You don't drag your partner down here on dark, rainy mornings?" Trying to suss out whether she was married or single or whatever. I know I'll never forget a single minute of the little time we've spent together. It's like we fit together. Talking to her is so easy. We just natter away and if we're quiet for a minute, that's fine too. There's not a drop of awkwardness. It felt entirely right to be with her. Every bit of it. Everything just as it should be as if I was in the right place with the right person and so was she.'

‘Wow, it sounds beautiful.' And it did, but that was no guarantee of a solid future, of happiness, which was all she wanted for her son.

‘It is. Have you ever felt that way?' He looked at her earnestly.

‘Truthfully?' She took her time. ‘When I met your dad, we were babies really. Teenagers who thought we knew it all! He was very romantic, he'd say the most wonderful things to me and he was so much fun – I don't need to tell you that!' She pictured him, hogging the dancefloor, arms wide, shaking and moving with abandon, ignoring the tuts and elbows of the more sedate dancers. ‘We fell into our relationship and it was lovely, really lovely. A happy time for me. Then marriage and you and Dilly and our fabulous house in Ledwick Green, and I had no reason to question whether we were truly happy or whether we'd make it, because I assumed both of those things.'

It felt odd, she'd never spoken in detail like this to him or Dilly, not really. But it was time. She controlled the nervous flutter in her throat.

‘When things went wrong and we moved to Corner Cottage, I can't describe the level of shock for me, how hurt I was. Every step I took I did slowly, as if I couldn't even trust the ground beneath my feet to hold fast. It was like living on a trapdoor that I knew at any second would open up and I'd drop for eternity. Freefall.' Even remembering it sent a chilly quiver through her limbs. ‘And that's the thing about these spontaneous heart-led decisions: they are exciting, physical, wondrous, but you need to be sure, Bear. You need to be certain that what you feel is the real deal and not just some distraction or worse, an alleyway that allows you to run from commitment to Petra.' She watched his face fall. ‘The more people you rope in to the equation, the more people get hurt.'

‘I know that.' He swallowed.

‘It was only when I started to come out the other side that I realised that maybe we weren't truly happy and accepted that we weren't going to make it. I think it says more about me than it does about Dad.'

‘He was the one who cheated.'

There was no mistaking the hurt that echoed in his words; he clearly didn't recognise his behaviour as mirroring his father's in any way.

‘Yes, but I guess the question is why, and that's a complicated thing for another day, I think, Bear, darling, Hugo is not a bad person, and he's a terrific father in many ways. We were just different people, on different pages, if not reading different books entirely.' She gave a wry laugh. ‘And we ran out of love. That's it.'

‘And with Charles?' He kept his voice low, his eyes darting to the closed door.

‘Charles and I are truly happy. I love him very much. Also a great dad.' She smiled. ‘And I think the difference between Hugo and Charles is that Charles and I are really, really good friends. Best friends, in fact. It's different, but good different. I treasure him.' She paused. ‘But that instant thunderbolt, musical note of clarity that you describe so well ...' She shook her head. ‘No, I've never had that. I guess I envy you a little bit, not that I want any more than I have, but it must feel ... amazing.'

‘It does.' A smile briefly split his face, replaced by a look of hurt. ‘I cheated on Petra. But it didn't feel like cheating. In fact, sleeping with Petra again, which I didn't, would have felt like cheating.'

‘Well, I think cheating sucks.' She tried to keep a note of neutrality. ‘I've been on the sharp end of it and it's awful, soul-sapping.' She spoke openly, wanting to drive home the harmful nature of his actions.

‘I'm not like Dad!' he pressed, his distress evident.

‘I don't think you are,' she levelled. ‘Not as a person and not in your intentions, but I have to be honest and say that you need to be aware of how decisions you make set you on a path. Your dad wasn't a serial cheater or womaniser – whatever you want to call it – not when he only cheated with Wendy. One indiscretion, that was all. But I guess the thrill and the ease of it became attractive to him. I don't know, and I can't speak on his behalf. It's unfair. I just don't want you to hurt or get hurt.'

Bear looked deep in thought.

‘You're not a bad person. Quite the opposite.'

‘Thank you, Mum.'

‘What's her name?'

His face broke into a smile at the mere prospect of saying her name. ‘Tawrie Gunn. Her name is Tawrie Gunn.'

‘Oh my!' To hear the name after all these years was like stepping back in time. With her hand at her throat she thought about that day when she and Tawrie's mother had stepped over the threshold.

‘What's wrong? Are you okay?' He leaned forward, staring intently.

‘Tawrie Gunn!'

‘Do you know her?' His voice had gone up an octave.

‘I don't know her, but I have met her, once. We were staying in Corner Cottage when her father was killed in an accident.'

‘Yes, yes I know about it.'

‘You had a play date with Tawrie before her father first went missing.'

‘What? Are you kidding me? That's insane!' His mouth fell open, eyes lit up, and his body jumped, as if delighted by the thought.

‘No, I'm not kidding. I haven't thought about it for yonks, but I seem to remember the play date was a bit of a disaster and of course it all got overshadowed by what came next.'

‘That's ... I don't know what to say!' He ran his palm over his face.

‘I had a coffee with her mother. She was sweet, I remember, and then when I next saw her, it was when I was leaving Ilfracombe, heading off to stay with Aunty Ellis, and you, Dills and Dad were going back to the house in Ledwick Green. She stuck in my mind. Annalee, that's her name, Annalee Gunn. She was so pretty and she and her husband were so into each other, like the rest of the world was an inconvenience.'

It was only after she'd spoken that she recognised the similarity between what she'd seen and what Bear described. His eyes were wide, gaze intent, as if the discussion of this woman who he claimed had stolen his heart had given him a glimpse of something so wonderful she lived behind his eyelids.

‘I only saw her that one time after and she looked very different. She'd got old and frail and hollow and broken overnight. I didn't know what to say or whether to say anything. You were all in the car and I caught her eye as she walked up towards the slipway. I reached out and rubbed her arm and she nodded once, as if even that was more than she could manage. And that little girl. Tawrie, your Tawrie.'

‘Yes.' He nodded. ‘My Tawrie. Although not my Tawrie right now. She told me to sod off to London and not to go back. She thinks I lied through omission, and I did, technically.'

‘There's nothing technical about how the heart conducts itself, that much I have learned. It's an emotional, illogical thing that will heal in its own time.'

‘What helped your heart to heal?' He looked up at her, his eyes mournful.

It didn't fully ... She coughed to clear her throat and stop these words from escaping.

‘Time. That was it, really.' She let the words settle. ‘After the initial hurt, when I found about Hugo and Wendy, came anger, then a small amount of bitterness, jealousy even.' It wasn't easy to admit. ‘Then when I realised that I couldn't change what had happened, couldn't reset, I felt powerless, which was a horrible feeling. Also getting so wrapped up in my hurt that it took me a while to fully process the fact that I didn't actually want to go back to someone who didn't want me, and so if I didn't want him, if I accepted the new direction my life was going in, then why did I need to be so angry? I didn't, was the truth. It meant my load was lighter, my thoughts clearer and then I met Charles, as if the universe was telling me I was ready.'

‘Was it easier between you and Dad once you'd met Charles? Like you had your ally?'

‘I suppose. I mean we've never really revisited that time, had the conversation, and there are still things that, I don't know, erm ... things.' She stumbled on her words, wondering how to explain that sometimes she still had the breath knocked out of her with naked fear of all that might or could happen again. And how the memory of that hurt was enough to make her want to curl up and hide. It felt impossible to phrase without it sounding like she expected Charles to cheat, which she categorically did not. It was more like a muscle memory, like one scalded who is wary around hot water. It felt a lot like unfinished business, she suddenly realised. ‘I guess things became more civil between us, but easier? I'm not sure.'

There was a moment of silence before Bear spoke.

‘I can't settle, Mum. I'm exhausted. I need to go back to the flat and sort things with Petra. We need to unpick our lives and I owe her a longer conversation than a quick chat in the car and while I was carrying her bags up to the front door. I want to tell her everything calmly, so there's no surprises lurking, and I want to make sure she knows that I'm there for her and how much I've really loved our love and our friendship. She's great. She's just not for me. And I'm not for her.'

Harriet was struck by his maturity. His empathy and his desire to end this relationship with kindness, knowing it would make all the difference in the future, help Petra, in time, reach acceptance too. It was a balm to some of her concerns.

‘I'm so proud of you, Bear. Truly proud of the person you are.'

‘Thank you.' He stared at his feet, still a little awkward at accepting the compliment.

There was a knock on the door as Charles entered, wearing an apron that was splattered with what looked like tomato sauce and she couldn't help but admire a slice of red onion that nestled on his scalp.

‘Need a bit of help, Harry!' He pulled a face. ‘Tried to make pasta sauce and the whole saucepan has exploded.'

‘So I see.' Her gingham apron looked ruined.

‘Yes, you'll also see it on the work surface, the stove, the wall and one or two major splats on the ceiling.' His expression was part sheepish, part highly amused.

‘How, Charles, how?' She stood up and prepared to get scrubbing.

‘I don't know!' He laughed. ‘One minute I'm adding oregano and the next I'm diving for cover.'

She turned to her son who looked a lot better than when he'd arrived, with a little colour in his cheeks and a more upright demeanour. ‘Forget what I said about me treasuring this husband of mine.' She laughed. ‘The man is a complete doofus!'