7. Now

‘You're sure Jenna didn't say who she was getting a lift from?' I call, stepping onto the terrace.

Ash smashes a shuttlecock but his sister flicks it back over the net. ‘Nope,' he says, which is about as much as you get from Ash unless you're one of his many admirers. But they're good kids. Find me another pair of teenagers playing badminton on a Friday afternoon.

I check my watch. She's not even twenty minutes late. She's probably with Rose, her best friend, Lydia's daughter. They're always here or at Rose's.

I know, helicopter parent alert, but I find Rose in my contacts. It goes to voicemail. Jenna would probably die if I left a message. My finger hesitates over Lydia's name – but that would be a bit much, and I'm not exactly eager to talk to her.

I shade my eyes and squint at the twins. ‘Who might she be with, apart from Rose?'

They shrug.

‘I'm sure she's fine, Auntie Frances. She's a big girl,' says Ava.

I wonder about her other friends: Devon, his sister Dinae, and Sylvie. They like to spend hours rifling through records in the music shop in Port Emblyn, drinking hot chocolate at the ice cream café. When they were younger, they loved coming into the gallery. All the parents used to come for barbecues. There were birthday parties and beach trips.

But I realise I haven't seen them for a while. It might seem a odd to message them.

‘Is there anyone else I should call?'

‘Her boyfriend?'

I freeze. But then, Jenna has a boyfriend? This is good – this is brilliant! ‘What boyfriend?'

Ava laughs. ‘Theo.'

‘Oh.' Theo is Tristan's campaign manager, or PA, or BFF. Before Tristan bought the Range Rovers, Theo used to take the kids to school sometimes. He's a very handsome young man and Ash and Ava like to tease Jenna about him because once, through poor communication and general time mismanagement, they'd ended up having dinner alone and there had been a power cut, so they'd eaten by candlelight.

Theo does still pick up Jenna sometimes. I'm not quite sure what we did to deserve him – he's always helping, filling gaps. I message him and scowl at the white ticks.

I walk round the back of the house. The whole place was repointed last year. Tristan said the impression it made on visitors as they first came up the drive was of utmost importance. I privately miss the Virginia creeper.

I hurry through my mother's flower garden, across the orchard to the Victorian glass and aluminium greenhouse where I thought Jenna might have gone this morning, but it's empty.

Dan has six polytunnels and a row of old cowsheds back here. When we married, the idea was to turn the grounds back into a working farm, everything fancy and organic, just as he had at Ballycahir to such huge success; we planned to renovate the cowsheds and run them as a wedding venue.

But it took a while to get started, and then Tristan's career accelerated, and the investment we were meant to be getting from my parents went to Tristan instead. And to my mother and father's barn conversion. We considered a fresh start somewhere else, but my father helped us see it would be better to stay in Port Emblyn. I got the gallery job and Dan has done his best on his own.

I check the polytunnels, ducking my head into their moist heat. The last two are unused, housing a broken lawnmower and a flowerpot mountain. The farm does okay, but I know Dan is disappointed. I suppose we could've got a bank loan, but Father kept saying we shouldn't get ourselves in debt and maybe at some point he'd manage to release some capital.

I head back towards the runner bean poles and my phone rings. It's Theo. ‘I'm sorry, no, I haven't heard from her.' He sounds genuinely regretful. I'm always surprised by how thoughtful he is. ‘Have you tried Rose?' he says.

‘She didn't pick up.'

‘Hmm, sorry Frances. I'm sure she'll be back soon. Look, we're stuck in meetings – I don't know if we'll be back for dinner. Could you send our apologies to the big man?' Only Theo could get away with calling my father ‘the big man'.

‘Of course.' I hang up and lean to sniff the lemon balm growing in a raised bed. Scents send messages to the limbic system where emotions are processed. I feel brighter, calmer, more energised.

I check my watch. It's almost four thirty. Would I even be worried on any other day?

But it isn't any other day.