Summer at Lavender Bay
SARAH BENNETT

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Sarah Bennett 2018

Sarah Bennett asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008281335

Version: 2018-06-25

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Extract

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by

Coming Soon

About the Publisher

It’s not the first love that counts – it’s the last. This one’s for M, my last and truest love

Chapter One

Welcome to Heathrow. Eliza’s stomach churned at the words emblazoned on the large silver sign dominating the roundabout. They were really going through with it. After weeks of debate, of ever-more outlandish promises from Martin about how relocating to the Middle East would be a fresh start for both of them, they’d finally reached the point of no return. She placed her hand on her uneasy middle, assuring herself it was merely butterflies of excitement rather than a sense of impending dread that had made it impossible to choke down more than a couple of mouthfuls of tea.

Once they’d checked in, they’d find somewhere for breakfast. Martin wanted a blowout—a full English with all the works—to say goodbye to the UK in style. The thought of all that grease did nothing to help her queasiness, but he was excited about their new adventure and she owed it to him to be supportive. She’d manage a plate of scrambled eggs on toast and hopefully something to eat would settle her down.

‘Here you go, mate.’ The taxi driver’s cheerful voice scattered her wayward thoughts. Blinking, she realised the car had drawn to a halt outside a huge glass and concrete building. ‘That’ll be twenty quid. Do you need a hand with your bags?’ The taxi driver half-turned to complete the transaction with Martin who began to fumble with his wallet.

From Eliza’s vantage point in the back seat, the contrast between the two men was marked. The driver was an older man, closer to her dad’s age than theirs. His tanned skin crinkled around his eyes, giving her the impression he laughed a lot. He’d been chatty during the journey and seemed genuinely interested to hear about their relocation to Abu Dhabi. She’d left it to Martin to carry the majority of the conversation, although she’d managed a smile and a few words of agreement whenever either of them had aimed a question or remark in her direction.

Eliza’s stomach started doing that unpleasant swirling thing again—like she was filled with water and someone had yanked out the plug, sending it spinning as the water drained away. It was the same feeling she had every time she thought, heard or saw the name of the country where they’d be living for at least the next three years.

‘I’d like a receipt please,’ Martin said as he handed over a crisp note fresh from the cashpoint machine. He looked pale, almost wan, next to the older man. The sallowness of his skin owed more to the hours he spent locked inside staring at his laptop rather than genetics. He’d catch the sun soon enough; he always did whenever they returned to their home town of Lavender Bay to visit their families. Not that she could persuade him to go there much these days. He was always too busy—although it was never clear to Eliza exactly what it was on his computer that took up so much of his spare time.

With the driver paid, there was no excuse for her to linger in the cab any longer, so she took a deep breath and forced her shaking hand to open the door. It was nerves, nothing more. Anyone taking such a big leap into the unknown was bound to be a little apprehensive, right?

The hem of the long, flowing skirt she was wearing caught on the low heel of her patent red shoes, and she had to pause to extricate it. She’d chosen muted colours, floaty layers over dark leggings and a thin, long-sleeved T-shirt, with a scarf around her neck which could be pulled up to cover her hair if needs be. Martin’s employer had provided them with suggestions of acceptable attire, and although it had been stressed to her the authorities were entirely reasonable in their approach to Western visitors, it was important to her to be respectful towards the culture of the country. The fact her milk-pale, freckled complexion could burn at the first hint of strong sunlight meant she was used to covering up. Her Dorothyesque red shoes had been the only indulgence when selecting her outfit, a splash of the rich colours she favoured; a touch of courage.

Feeling a bit useless, Eliza hovered out of the way whilst Martin and the driver wrestled their luggage out of the boot. With a smile, the driver placed a large and small suitcase in front of her then tugged the handles up and locked them in place. ‘Chin up, sweetheart, it might never happen.’

She laughed at the well-worn phrase and the kindly wink, ignoring the whirlpool inside her. He was sort of right. It had already happened, so she might as well stop sulking about it. ‘Thank you for your help.’

‘My pleasure. Have a good flight.’ With a cheery wave, he was gone.

‘All set?’ Martin’s question turned her head towards him, and she nodded. His laptop bag dangled precariously from one shoulder, his hands already filled with the handles of his two cases.

Stepping forward, she lifted the bag up so she could lengthen the strap and hook it over his body cross-wise. ‘It might be easier like this.’ Her own personal items were secured in a small rucksack already strapped to her back.

‘Thanks.’ She lifted up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, but he was already turning away from her. Like he had been for months. Like they both had been—she corrected herself. It wasn’t all Martin’s fault if things between them were flat. They’d been drifting apart for ages, a slow slide of conflicting work schedules and a lack of shared interests. It hadn’t seemed important when they were kids, flush with the excitement of young love and too naïve to understand how the little things they found easy to shrug off would slowly grow into rocks of resentment neither of them seemed willing to clamber over. Instead of addressing those problems, their answer had been to divert themselves from the rocky path of their marriage by veering off in an entirely new direction. A fresh start, a new life in a new country with new opportunities. Not ready to give up on nearly a decade of commitment, Eliza had let herself become swept away with it.

‘Come on, Eliza. Stop daydreaming.’ Eliza—short for Elizabeth. A name she’d chosen for herself on the same day her two best friends had chosen their own nicknames. The quirk of fate that saw certain names become popular each year, had seen the three of them all christened Elizabeth within a handful of months of each other. That might not have been a problem in a big city, but in the tiny seaside town of Lavender Bay where there were only enough children to fill one class each year, it had been a problem. Fed up of the confusion, they’d sat on Eliza’s bed one evening during their first year at secondary school and decided to become Beth, Eliza and Libby. And so they’d remained for the next fifteen years.

Shaking off the old memory, Eliza noted Martin had already trundled away with his share of the luggage, forcing her to grab hers and hurry after him. The cases were mismatched in both size and weight and had seen better days. They’d invested in a new set for Martin because he’d need his suits and shirts to be halfway presentable on arrival as he would be heading to the office the next morning. Eliza only had to stay in the hotel the firm had allocated them for the first few days—the keys to their new apartment not being available until the end of the week—so it didn’t matter much if her things were a bit crumpled. There would be plenty of time to sort and iron everything, it wasn’t as though she’d have anything else to do once they moved into the new place.

She finally caught up to him at the barriers just before check in, and only because he’d stopped to rummage in the front pocket of his bag for their paperwork. Withdrawing the pre-printed boarding passes and their passports, he split them and handed hers over. ‘There you go. Just join the back of that queue and I’ll wait for you here once you’re finished.’

‘Wait for me? What are you talking about. We can just check in together.’

A dull blush added spots of red to Martin’s pallid skin. ‘I…umm…I’m going business class.’

All those times he’d brushed off her enquiries about their flight details, insisting he had everything in hand, suddenly made horrible sense. ‘We’re not sitting together? We’re not even in the same section of the bloody plane?’ she hissed, not wanting to make a scene in the crowded hall.

He adjusted the bag over his shoulder, glancing away, but not quick enough for her to miss seeing him roll his eyes. ‘Why do you always have to get like this?’ he sighed, as though he were the most put-upon husband in the history of the known world. He looked back, but his gaze didn’t meet hers. ‘Look, the company were generous enough to pay for us both, but their policy doesn’t cover business travel for family members. I didn’t think it was worth wasting money from our savings on an upgrade for you. It’s a big day for me tomorrow. I’ll be working for most of the flight so I need to be able to focus on that. Besides, economy on these big planes isn’t exactly a hardship and I thought you’d understand…’ His voice trailed off, the tone a perfect blend of confusion and disappointment.

He’d thought she’d understand. Which was why he’d deliberately avoided discussing it with her until now. How very like him to put off anything that might involve a difficult conversation. He’d clearly practised his list of excuses and settled on her being a distraction. Like she was some five-year-old child incapable of sitting still for a few hours. It was a bloody night flight, for God’s sake, and she’d intended to spend it catching up on a few movies she hadn’t seen, and sleeping.

Staring up at him, Eliza wondered, not for the first time, who the hell he was. This was supposed to be a new start for them, the next step in their life together; it wasn’t unreasonable of her to expect they’d be taking it side by side. The twisting tension inside her made her snap at him. ‘And what happens after check in, I suppose you’re going to use the business class lounge rather than sit with me and the rest of the plebs in the departures area?’

He folded his arms, the corners of his eyes narrowing the way they did when he got angry. Martin wasn’t a great one for losing his temper, but she knew the look. If avoidance and cajoling wouldn’t work to talk her around, he used it as a last resort. If he thought he could intimidate her into backing down though, he was in for a shock. ‘What is it about this that is so difficult for you to understand? When we get to Abu Dhabi tomorrow, I have to work. You can go to the hotel and sleep, or laze by the pool, or whatever the hell you want to do with yourself. Why are you making this difficult?’ Oh God, that tone in his voice! It took all her self-control not to slap him for it.

Conscious they were blocking the entrance to the check in lanes, Eliza towed her cases a few feet away, then waited for Martin to join her. He rolled his eyes again, and her fists clenched over the handles as the swirl in her belly turned into a vortex that threatened to suck the life out of her. ‘I thought we were in this together,’ she said, pitching her voice low. ‘You knew about my reservations about leaving my family and friends so far behind, about having nothing to do but stay at home and keep house for you. We talked about this and yet now you’re treating me as some kind of hanger-on. This is supposed to be you and me, and baby makes three, remember? The Wilkinsons vs the World.’

Martin shoved a hand through his hair. ‘You can do whatever you want for the next three years. I’m making enough money to set us up for life. Most women would jump at the chance to do nothing but “keep house”. It’s not exactly an onerous task, is it? You’ll be free to spend time on your projects. Christ, we don’t even have to have a kid if you don’t want one, I just thought it would make you happy.’

His words struck her like a blow. All those hours spent talking about this move, when she’d thought they were finally making a proper connection again, and he’d been humouring her? ‘Make me happy? Nothing about this makes me happy, Martin, but you went ahead and did it anyway! Applied for the job without telling me, then accepted it before we’d finished discussing the pros and cons.’

Another flash of understanding sent her reeling. ‘Do you even want to have a baby?’ She’d had her own doubts, not about having children—she’d always dreamed of a brood of chubby little babies growing into gorgeous, happy children surrounded by the same love she’d always known growing up—but about the timing of it all.

He shrugged. ‘I’m not bothered either way. I just thought it made sense given how much time you’ll have on your hands.’

Like bringing a child into the world was on a par with one of her ‘little projects’. ‘We’re talking about creating a new life together, not knitting a bloody jumper!’ She was shouting now, but it was that or start crying.

The vortex shifted into a hurricane, and it was all she could do to cling on as her reality shredded into a thousand tiny fragments and blew away. ‘Who are you?’

Martin tutted loudly. ‘Lower your voice, for God’s sake and don’t be such a drama queen. I’m your bloody husband, that’s who I am. We can talk about this later. Let’s just get checked in, okay?’

No. It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay, and it hadn’t been for a long time.

Eliza took a step backwards. ‘I’m not doing this.’

‘Not doing what?’ Even now, he didn’t get it. He wasn’t her husband. He was nothing like the shy, idealistic boy she’d fallen in love with. And she was nothing like the naïve girl he’d sworn to love forever. They’d been children, playing at love. Things might have been different if they’d found some common ground along the way, a fertile plot to plant the seeds of that first love so it could flourish and grow. They’d grown up, but not together, and all that bound them were words they’d said without understanding the importance behind them. ‘I’m not going with you.’

Furious now, if the muscle twitching in his jaw was anything to go by, he snatched for her arm. When she twisted to evade his grip, he circled around until she was trapped between his body and their luggage. ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid. You’re going to stop this nonsense, right now. Get your bags and come on.’

Her hands shook at the harshness in his voice, but she knotted them in the folds of her skirt, refusing to back down. ‘I’ll go with you, on one condition. Tell me why you love me.’

‘Christ, Eliza. I don’t have time for these games. I love you because you’re my wife.’ He glanced away, and she could see his chest rise and fall as he sucked in a deep breath. When he looked back at her, the anger appeared to have gone, but where? No one could switch moods that quickly, so why was he trying to hide it from her? She was derailing his well-laid plans and he had every right to be mad at her. And what else had he been hiding? How much more resentment had he swallowed down hoping for an easy life? Probably as much, if not more, than she had.

Feeling like she didn’t know him at all, Eliza raised her hands in a placatory gesture as she edge out from where he’d crowded her against their bags. ‘That’s not enough, don’t you see? And it shouldn’t be enough for you, either.’

Martin put his hands on his hips. The muscle in his jaw had started twitching again, but his voice carried that same weary, patronising tone. ‘Couples have their ups and downs. Life can’t be all hearts and flowers.’

‘Trotting out a couple of trite old sayings isn’t going to fix this.’ With every second that passed, the certainty grew within her—it was over between them.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Just what do you expect me to do about it then?’

Eliza shook her head. ‘Nothing. This is a good opportunity for you, you should make the most of it. It’s not good for me, though, and I hope in time you’ll come to see that. You’ll be so busy getting to grips with everything, you won’t even notice I’m not there.’

‘This is ridiculous.’ He reached for her again, and she tucked her arm behind her back away from him. ‘The bloody house is leased out; they’re moving in next week! Where the hell will you go?’

That he even needed to ask told her how little he knew and understood her. The fact she hadn’t even considered returning to the little starter home they’d shared for the past five years only served to reinforce to her she was doing the right thing. Seizing the handles of her suitcases, she turned away. ‘I’m going back to Lavender Bay.’

‘I won’t run after you.’ Good, she didn’t want him to. ‘Eliza? Jesus Christ!’ His frustrated shout faded beneath the rapid beat of her shoes striking on the tiled floor of the airport. Refusing to look back, Eliza kept walking until she’d cleared the automatic doors and joined the end of the queue of travellers waiting for a taxi.

Staring at her shoes, she watched as a tear splashed on the shiny red patent and rolled off. With a sniffle, she fought back the tears and clicked her heels together three times as she whispered. ‘There’s no place like home.’

Chapter Two

The screaming had become so much a part of Jack’s life over the past month that he was out of bed and halfway across the landing before he was even properly awake. He’d just flipped on the light when the door to his mum’s room opened, and she appeared next to him with one arm hooked in the sleeve of her dressing gown, the rest of it trailing behind her. A section of her short grey hair was flattened against her scalp, the other side standing up in a lopsided wave, showing how she’d tossed and turned in her sleep. The circles beneath her eyes stood out like bruises against her pale skin. She looked terrible—at least ten years older than the fifty-seven she was due to turn in a couple of weeks. She was a ghostly shadow of the vibrant, robust woman who’d filled his life with laughter since the day he was born.

When was the last time he’d heard her laugh? The stray thought was shattered by another gut-wrenching scream. Jack shuddered, then braced his shoulders. ‘I’ll see to him, Mum. Go back to bed.’

Tears filled her eyes. ‘Poor little lamb, I wish there was something we could do.’

‘Me too, we just have to give him time. We have to give all of us time.’ Jack turned the handle and slipped into his nephew’s room. The night-light Jack’s brother Jason had purchased for his son when Noah had been tiny cast soft blue stars and moons onto the wall and ceiling. Having been declared ‘too-babyish’ just six months previously, it had been retrieved from the cupboard when the nightmares had started the night Jason died.

Ducking down next to the figure huddled beneath a Star Wars duvet, Jack touched a gentle hand to the rigid shoulder. ‘Noah? Shh, now. Uncle Jack’s here, everything will be okay.’ The lie curdled on his tongue. Nothing could ever be right for the poor kid, not since that terrible early-April morning when all their lives had been turned upside down and shattered by the terrible car accident. One bitter twist of fate had robbed Jack of his elder brother and made him into a surrogate father overnight. The fact that Jason had entrusted his son to his keeping was a weight he didn’t know if he could carry—and an honour he would spend the rest of his days trying to be worthy of.

It feels daft to be writing this, Jack, but the solicitor told me I needed to make my wishes clear should the worst happen, so here goes. In the event of my death, I want you to be the one responsible for Noah’s well-being and upbringing. You’re the only person I can trust to give him the life he deserves, to raise him how I would. A normal life. Give him the choices we never had, Jack…

The words of Jason’s letter to him, left with the solicitor for safekeeping together with his will, were etched into Jack’s memory in indelible ink. He knew they’d hurt their mum with their not-so-implied criticism of the way she and their dad had raised them. Jack had been not much older than Noah when his parents had decided to escape from the rat-race and start a new life in the country. It had been one big adventure to his ten-year-old self. At fourteen, Jason had been devastated to leave his friends and life in London behind to move to an old farm in the back of beyond, and he’d never quite recovered from that initial resentment, though it’d been almost twenty years ago. And now he’d never be able to heal the rift with their mother.

Growing up on the farm it had been the Gilberts against the world, an isolated existence thanks to his parents home-schooling their sons. Jack had loved the cosy security and been perfectly content with it just being the four of them most days. Jason had chafed against it, especially when his plans to escape off to a job in the city after finishing at university had been thwarted by their father’s early passing. Jason had given up a promising position with a trading house to help manage the farm. Though he’d never said so, it was clear he’d rather be anywhere else and every free moment he could manage, Jason disappeared somewhere. He’d never talked about what he got up to, and never invited Jack along either which had hurt more than he’d ever admitted.

Pain sliced through him, and Jack rubbed his chest to ease the phantom ache. It was ridiculous to be upset over something that had happened a dozen years or more ago, but he’d have followed Jason into the bowels of hell given the chance. Things changed abruptly when his brother had returned at the end of one trip with a visibly pregnant woman in tow. The pain vanished at the mere thought of Lydia. God, Jack had hated her pouting face on first sight.

Those mysterious weekends became a thing of the past, and Jason seemed to grow up overnight. He started taking things at the farm more seriously, started making all these plans for the future, but Lydia was having none of it. Country life was boring. Everything was boring, especially being tied down with a baby. She’d lasted all of three months after Noah was born before packing her things and leaving Jason literally holding the baby. The last they’d heard of her, she’d moved to New York with her new, obscenely wealthy, older husband.

Though he’d resigned himself to remaining at the farm Jason had been determined to give Noah a very different upbringing to theirs, making sure he was properly socialised through nursery attendance then enrolment in the local primary school.

Noah whimpered, but didn’t wake. Smoothing his hand in slow circles over the boy’s back, Jack kept up a litany of soft whispers. Sometimes it would work, and his nephew would settle again, sometimes not. There was nothing he could do but wait and see. The ache in his knees spoke of another long day on the farm, and Jack stifled a groan as he shifted position to sit on the floor.

It might have been the change in pressure against his back, or some dark terror conjured by his mind that disturbed Noah. Whatever it was, the boy turned over suddenly and opened his eyes. ‘Uncle Jack?’

Jack brushed the sweaty strands of hair off Noah’s forehead. ‘I’m here, buddy.’

Noah’s face crumpled. ‘I couldn’t find Daddy. I looked everywhere, but he wasn’t there.’ The last word came out in a strangled whisper.

‘Ah, buddy, come here.’ Jack opened his arms and his nephew slid from beneath the sheets to crawl into his lap. Thin arms wrapped around his neck, and Noah burrowed his damp face into Jack’s chest. Bitter, painful experience told him the best thing to do was to let Noah cry it out of his system, so Jack set his jaw and let the boy soak the front of his T-shirt as he rocked him gently.

The back of his own eyes burned, but the tears remained unshed as they had since the moment the police had knocked on the front door and told him Jason was dead. Anger kept them at bay. At the driver of the heavy goods vehicle which had jack-knifed on a dry, clear day causing a horrendous pileup on the motorway. Jason had been in the middle lane preparing to overtake—according to the eye-witness accounts the police had related to the family—and had stood no chance.

Jack was furious with himself, too, for sending his brother on an errand he couldn’t be bothered to run, and at Jason for dashing off in that ridiculous bloody sports car he’d insisted on buying as an early mid-life crisis present. From the moment Jason had pulled up in the yard in the sporty red car, Jack had hated the damn thing.

A waste of bloody money—money that could have been invested in one of the new side-ventures Jack wanted to try but Jason had refused to consider—and completely impractical for driving up and down the dirt lane that led to the farm. Thanks to ruts left by their tractor and the thick mud that formed every time it rained, the stupid vehicle spent more time parked up than being used.

Noah’s sobs quietened into the odd sniffle, and Jack forced the anger back down once more. Touching a finger to Noah’s cheek, he smiled when the boy raised his head. ‘A bit better now?’ When Noah nodded, Jack lifted him onto the edge of the bed, so he could stand up. ‘Do you think you can sleep again?’

Noah’s bottom lip disappeared between his teeth. Recognising the precursor to more tears, Jack bent down to scoop the boy up. ‘Oof, you’re getting heavy, buddy, I’ll have to tell Nanna to lay off the cakes.’ In truth, Noah was a wisp of a thing, all joints and gangly limbs from a recent growth spurt which had burned off the last hints of puppy fat. He’d been such a roly-poly little lad, a miniature buddha, all smiles and sweet cuddles until last summer when he’d converted all that girth into height.

There was no mistaking him for anything other than a Gilbert, now. If he kept on growing like this, he might even outstrip his dad who’d topped Jack’s six-foot frame by a good inch. If it weren’t for the four years between them, Jack and his brother could have been alike enough to be taken for twins at first glance, and staring into Noah’s hazel eyes was like looking into a mirror of the past. Even the grief etched on his face was familiar, although Jack had been three times six-year-old Noah’s age when his own father had died.

There’d been mutterings of a family curse by some old biddy at Jason’s funeral which Jack had shut down with a filthy glare. People loved that kind of crap, though he hadn’t realised how much until his family had been on the end of the gossip.

Settling Noah on his hip, though he was almost too big to be held that way anymore, Jack pressed a kiss to his forehead. ‘How about some hot chocolate?’

Noah perked up considerably at the suggestion of his favourite treat and even managed a little smile by the time Jack negotiated his way down the steep stairs and into the square hallway on the ground floor. Wincing as his toes touched the chilly flagstone floor, Jack made his way to the large sprawling kitchen-diner that was the heart of the old farmhouse. He deposited Noah on one of the ladder-back kitchen chairs, sighing in relief to be standing on one of the cheerful rag rugs which covered the bare stone floor.

A sleepy woof greeted them from the large basket tucked close against the Aga as Sebastian raised his head to greet them. Leaving Noah’s side, Jack crossed the room to flick the kettle on, pausing to bend over and scrub the chocolate Labrador in his favourite spot behind his left ear. Bastian rolled his eyes in bliss, tongue lolling. ‘Silly thing,’ Jack said, affectionately, and the dog wagged his tail as though in agreement.

Retrieving a box from the overhead cupboard, Jack scattered a couple of biscuits into Bastian’s bowl then gathered a pair of mugs and the instant hot chocolate mix while he waited for the kettle to boil. His mum always made the whole thing with hot milk, but it was too late for Jack to be bothered faffing around with pots and pans. Besides, Noah wouldn’t mind—the distraction of being out of bed and away from the nightmare would be enough to set him to rights once more.

The dog scoffed his midnight snack then ambled over to the table where he placed his head on Noah’s knee. He’d become attuned to the boy’s moods, offering gentle comfort whenever he sensed Noah was upset. Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Jack couldn’t help but smile at the image the small boy and the big dog created together.

Jack mixed their drinks, adding a generous splash of milk to increase the creaminess of the flavour and to make sure it wasn’t too hot to drink. He wanted Noah settled back in bed as soon as possible so he’d be rested enough for school in the morning. Both Jack and his mum had agreed it was important to keep Noah to his regular schedule, and with the support of his teacher, he seemed to be coping okay during the day. It was the nights which were the real problem.

Placing the mugs down on the scarred surface of the block pine table, Jack took the chair next to Noah. Bastian immediately circled around Noah’s chair to wriggle his broad body in between them. Jack shifted his seat over to make room. The dog nudged his cold nose into Jack’s hand, a silent demand for more ear scratches. Obliging his beloved pet, Jack sipped his chocolate, keeping a weather eye on Noah who seemed a lot calmer now, his attention all on his own drink.

When only the dregs remained in his cup, Jack placed his hand on the back of Noah’s head. ‘We’ve both got a busy day tomorrow, are you about ready to get some more sleep?’

Noah gave a little nod as he placed his mug carefully on the table. ‘Uncle Jack, would it be all right if I came in with you?’

Christ, the hope and worry in his big hazel eyes was enough to break a man’s heart. ‘Of course, it’s all right.’ He held up a finger and wagged it at his nephew in warning. ‘No farting though.’

His nephew giggled. ‘Bastian farts much worse than me.’ They both looked at the dog wedged between them.

‘You’re not wrong there, buddy. Remember when Nanna gave him cod liver oil to help when he got itchy skin?’ His mother had embraced her new holistic life to the full and it wasn’t only the human occupants of the farm who were subjected to her homemade remedies. Jack didn’t think he’d ever smelt anything so bad in his entire life. Luckily, after speaking to the vet, they’d switched it out for a spoonful of sunflower oil mixed in with Bastian’s food which had eased his skin problems with less dire side-effects.

Noah wrinkled his nose. ‘He was so stinky!’

Bastian turned his head from side to side, giving them both his best innocent face. Jack tugged the dog’s ear, fondly. ‘Yes, mister, we’re talking about you.’ He stood, put their mugs in the sink to soak then turned to hold out a hand to Noah. ‘Come on, then.’

The dog trailed them to the kitchen threshold, his face a picture of pure misery when Jack tried to nudge him back enough to pull the door closed. ‘Forget it, mate,’ he said.

Bastian whined, making Noah tug on Jack’s fingers. ‘Please, Uncle Jack.’

The dog thumped his tail as the weight of two pairs of hopeful eyes bored into Jack. ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘All right, but when Nanna tells me off in the morning, I’m telling her it’s totally your fault.’

His nephew skipped up the stairs, one spoiled dog in tow while Jack turned off the lights and closed the doors. By the time he’d followed up after them, they were already occupying most of his king-size bed, together with the raggedy teddy Noah had had since a baby, leaving a thin sliver down one side for Jack to crawl onto. Wrestling enough of his duvet from beneath the dog to cover his back, he then rearranged the sprawl of little boy limbs until Noah was mostly vertical on the mattress.

A foul smell hit his nose, followed by a giggle. ‘Naughty Bastian,’ Noah said, fooling no one.

‘Yeah, right. Go to sleep, stinky boy.’ Jack punched his pillow into shape, then settled his head onto it with a sigh.

Little fingers curled around his forearm. ‘Night, Uncle Jack.’

‘Night, buddy.’

Soft snores followed not long after, a counterpoint to the dog’s snuffling breaths. Careful not to move his arm and risk waking Noah, Jack rolled onto his back and willed himself to join them in sleep. It wasn’t to be. The first hint of dawn showed behind his bedroom curtains before he finally dropped off.

‘Jack?’ A soft hand on his shoulder shook him awake. ‘It’s past eight o’clock.’

Feeling as though he’d only just closed them, he forced his gritty eyes open to find himself nose-to-nose with Noah’s teddy bear. He flinched back at the unexpected sight. ‘Huh? What?’

His mum, Sally, crossed the room to open the curtains, causing him to fling an arm across his face to shield himself from the already bright sunlight. ‘Have a heart, Mum!’ Two seconds later he was sitting bolt upright in bed. ‘Where’s Noah?’

His mum finished opening the top window, then turned to regard him. ‘He’s downstairs finishing his breakfast. I popped in earlier, but you were dead to the world, so I thought I’d let you sleep a bit longer.’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘It smells dreadful in here.’

Adjusting his pillows so he could lean against the headboard, Jack reached for the steaming mug of black coffee on his bedside cabinet with an appreciative sigh. ‘We’re men, we smell. It’s the law.’

She laughed. ‘Apparently so.’ Her expression sobered. ‘Noah’s a bit quiet this morning, did he say anything to you?’

Jack swallowed a mouthful of the hot, bitter brew, grateful for the energising power of caffeine. ‘Only that he had that dream where he couldn’t find his dad again. He went straight off to sleep after a hot drink.’ The next slurp of coffee finally kicked his brain into full gear, and a feeling of dread stole over him. ‘What time did you say it was?’

‘Just after eight.’

He threw back the covers with his free hand, almost spilling his coffee in his haste to get out of bed. ‘Bloody hell, I need to get a move on. I’m supposed to be planting the top of the south field.’

The weather had taken a dip after the Easter holidays and had only settled down over the past couple of weeks. A decent stretch of sunny days had dried and warmed the soil sufficiently for him to be able to transfer last year’s cuttings from the greenhouse to the fields. Clearing the old plants in preparation had been miserable, muddy work so it would be nice to be out there and feel the sun on his back.

‘I’m sorry, Jack, I just thought an extra hour would do you good, especially after you’d been up with Noah.’

Though he appreciated his mum’s intentions, he wished she hadn’t let him sleep in. With Jason gone, there never seemed to be enough hours in the day to get everything done. He’d have to bite the bullet and hire some extra help soon, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it yet. They had seasonal helpers at harvest time, and he hoped that between him and his mum they could make it through until then.

Taking the step to replace Jason would be a final acceptance of everything they’d lost, and he just wasn’t ready to try and work alongside someone else. They might not have seen eye to eye on everything, but he and Jason had lived and breathed lavender since they were children and knew the inner workings of the farm by heart.

Catching sight of the worry lines on his mum’s brow, Jack finished off the last of his coffee then bent to brush a quick kiss on her cheek. ‘It’s fine, Mum. You did the right thing. Thanks for the coffee, and for seeing to Noah.’

Sally took the mug from his hand. ‘Give me that. Go and have your shower. I’ll rustle you up a bacon sandwich and a thermos to take out with you, and then I’ll get Noah off to school…’ She paused by the door. ‘…Or he can stay home for a few days? I can make sure he keeps up with everything.’ The hope in her voice was enough to break his heart. She’d given up her career as a university lecturer to pursue a dream of raising her sons away from the rampant consumerism of modern life. Having missed so much of their growing up thanks to long hours spent climbing the corporate ladder, their father had been in wholehearted agreement at his wife’s decision to home-school both Jack and Jason. Their lessons had been scheduled to fit around working life on the farm and had involved as much about life as they did the curriculum.

The isolation had never bothered Jack. After being a latchkey kid, he’d been thrilled to have so much of his parents’ attention, but it had been another thorn in Jason’s side and something he’d been determined not to repeat with his own son. Feeling torn between honouring his brother’s wishes and the naked need in his mother’s eyes, Jack clenched his fist against his thigh. ‘I think it’s important to keep Noah to his regular routine, don’t you?’

She flinched as though he’d struck her, before fixing on a bright smile that failed to get anywhere near her eyes. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m just being overly sentimental. The last thing he needs is me fussing all over him.’

This was his life now, it seemed—hurting one person in order to honour his promise to another. Ignoring the stab of guilt in his heart, Jack faked his own smile. ‘You can fuss over me anytime, Mum.’

‘Get on with yourself.’ She shooed him towards the bathroom, her smile genuine this time, much to Jack’s relief.

True to her word, there was a foil-wrapped package and a thermos waiting on the kitchen table for him, together with a large water bottle, an apple and a banana. Jack finished rolling back the cuffs on the old checked shirt he’d slung over jeans and a T-shirt, then scooped up the food and drink to stow it in the rucksack he used to cart his bits and pieces around. Exiting the kitchen via the boot room, he stomped his feet into his work boots, tied the laces and headed out the back door.

Jack stowed his bag in the front of the sky-blue compact tractor parked in the yard, then pulled out the safety checklist book from beneath the seat. Their dad had been fanatical about safety, and his sons had carried on in the same tradition.

Nothing moved until it had been checked, even on days like this when Jack was running behind schedule. Satisfied the flat-bed trailer behind the tractor was hitched correctly, he circled both trailer and tractor, checking the tyres as well as the general condition of the bodywork. The engine came next—oil and fluid levels, connections, belts and hoses were all surveyed for wear. Last came the cab where everything was in order, well, once he’d cleaned the mirrors and wiped a layer of dust from the inside of the front window.

The greenhouse lay beyond the main farmhouse on the other side of the distillery, next to an old farmworker’s cottage. Jack trundled out of the yard, pausing to check the driveway in front of the house was clear before he ventured further. Their old battered Land Rover was nowhere to be seen, so the school run was already underway. Confident he could move around without risk to anyone else, Jack followed the driveway to his destination. Pulling up outside the cottage, Jack made a mental note to track down the keys for the place and have a nose around.

He and Jason had used it as a hideaway when they’d been kids, but it had been empty for a long time. His mum had talked about moving in there—said she wanted her own space away from all the testosterone in the farmhouse. Only they’d lost Jason, and she’d put her plans on hold to help Jack. Perhaps it was time for him to pick up the slack. Noah wasn’t the only one who would benefit from sticking to a routine. It was time to stop fire-fighting and accept the new status quo. The farm was his responsibility now and so was Noah. If he could get the cottage into a habitable state it would give his mum the space she craved whilst giving Jack room to breathe. He knew she only wanted what was best for them all, but if she kept making decisions about Noah without consulting him they could end up on a collision course.

A waft of warm air greeted him as he tugged open the greenhouse door. After propping it open, he dropped the tailgate of the trailer and began to transfer the first row of black plastic pots from the greenhouse. He’d taken the cuttings from the previous year’s new plants, a process they followed annually to ensure they preserved the quality and consistency of their crop. Although small now, the plants would spread and thrive within just a few short weeks, filling the air with their distinctive heady perfume.

Half an hour later the trailer was full, and so was his stomach thanks to the sandwich and a mug of hot tea. The steady work had warmed his muscles, so he paused to strip off the checked shirt before heading up to the south field. It would be a back-breaking day, and as he jolted along the trackway, he was already promising himself a long soak in the bath at the end of it.

He got the last of the plants in just as the sun was going down, his back screaming in protest as he bent over one last time to tamp down the sandy soil around the bush. With a groan, he gathered the empty plant pot and stowed it with the others in the trailer. Heaving himself into the cab of the tractor, Jack switched on the lights and chugged his way back down to the sprawl of buildings that were the heart of the farm.

Parking the tractor in the rear yard, he grabbed his bag and headed for the back door. The pots and trailer would both need washing out, but that would be a job for the morning. Bending to unlace his boots elicited another groan, and he all but hobbled into the kitchen to find his mum and Noah sitting at the kitchen table, a book held between them. The scent of something delicious rose from a large pot on the top of the Aga.

‘All finished?’ his mum asked as he paused at the sink to wash his hands.

He nodded. ‘Just about. I’ll need to take the water truck up there tomorrow, and give them a soak, but then it’s done. Have you guys eaten?’

She shook her head. ‘Noah wanted to wait for you, didn’t you, poppet?’ She stroked her grandson’s cheek as he tilted his head to glance up at Jack.

There goes my dream of a soak in the bath. ‘I’d better jump in the shower, then. Five minutes, all right?’

Sally pushed to her feet. ‘No rush, love. I need to put the bread in to warm, yet. We’re having Irish stew.’

His eyes practically rolled back in his head. Part of his parents’ back-to-nature kick had been cooking everything from scratch. No more Pot Noodles or takeaway pizzas for the Gilbert family—something else Jason had resented when they’d first moved down to the bay. Jack had pretended to be miffed in an act of brotherly solidarity, but he’d loved every meal his mum or dad had placed in front of him, even the burnt ones. ‘Sounds heavenly. I’ll be right back to set the table.’

True to his word, he was showered, changed into tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt and back in the kitchen in a flash. The heat from the power shower had done wonders for his stiff back, and he moved around freely, laying out mats, cutlery and glasses as he chatted to Noah about his day at school.

‘I got a smiley in my book today,’ his nephew said with a shy smile. He’d never had to know much about Noah’s schooling whilst Jason was around, other than pitching in with the school run, so he was still getting to grips with how it all worked.

When he cast an enquiring glance towards his mum, she said, ‘Noah stayed behind at break time to help his teacher clear up.’

‘We did painting. I put all the brushes in the big sink and put the paints in the cupboard after Miss Daniels put the lids on them.’

‘That’s great, buddy. I bet she was glad to have you help her.’ Jack held up his palm. ‘Give me five.’ Noah patted his little hand against Jack’s, practically glowing with the praise.

‘And he helped me to make dinner, didn’t you?’ his mum added.

‘Wow. I reckon all that helping out deserves a reward, don’t you?’ Jack crossed the kitchen to tug open the freezer. ‘Ah, ha! I knew we had some left.’ He turned around to show the tub of brightly striped ice cream. Neapolitan had always been his and Jason’s favourite, and they’d passed their love down to Noah. ‘What do you say, Nanna? Has Noah earned an after-dinner treat?’

Smiling fondly, Sally nodded her head. ‘I should say so! Can you give a hand with this, Jack?’

He put the ice cream back, then took the oven gloves his mum held out to him and transferred the bubbling pot of stew from the cooker top to the thick cork mat on the table. Removing the lid sent a waft of delicious steam teasing his nose. ‘This smells amazing.’ His mum took her seat with a smile and the three of them settled down to enjoy a delicious family supper. Jack glanced from his mum to his nephew, filled with love and pride for both of them. In spite of the horror of their loss, their little family was pulling together.

It would be getting busy around the place soon and he’d have even less time to spend with Noah, best to make the most of it while he could. ‘How about we walk to school tomorrow, Noah?’ Even with Noah’s shorter legs it wouldn’t be more than half an hour from the farm into Lavender Bay, and it was all downhill. The exercise would do them both good and would also give him the chance to give Noah his undivided attention. ‘If we get up a little bit earlier, we can take Bastian down to the beach to play. Would you like that?’

When Noah beamed at him, Jack knew he’d made the right call. The feeling of contentment stayed with him through Noah’s bedtime routine, Jack’s late evening walk with Bastian and on until he’d managed to read about five pages of the paperback thriller on his nightstand before his eyelids were drooping. We made it through another day, was his final sleepy thought as he turned out the light.

The screams from Noah’s room jerked him awake at 2 a.m.

Chapter Three

Libby Stone came bursting into Eliza’s old bedroom, a bottle of wine in one hand and a white carrier bag in the other. ‘I bought emergency supplies,’ she said, brandishing both. She stopped in her tracks, dropping to sit on the edge of the bed and when she spoke again, her voice was much gentler. ‘Oh, Eliza! Oh, don’t cry, darling, we’ll help you sort everything out.’ Dumping the wine and the bag on the floor at her feet, she gathered Eliza into a hug.

‘I’m okay,’ Eliza managed to say around the tears which had come on unexpectedly earlier that evening. Five weeks to the day since she’d left Martin in the airport and it felt like she’d lurched out of one rut and fallen straight into another. Her parents had welcomed her with open arms, though with more than a little concern about her snap decision. They’d danced around the subject, her mum’s comments rather more barbed than those from her dad, but accepted her request for space to sort things out. Only she hadn’t sorted anything out, just slipped into helping out in the pub, and now they were acting like she had a job for life behind the bar.

She knew how upset they’d both been at her brother Sam’s decision to pursue his dream of opening his own restaurant rather than taking over running the pub as previous generations of Barneses had, and now it seemed to be falling to Eliza by default of her return. And she didn’t want it any more than Sam had. In a fit of confusion, she’d texted Libby for help.

Another set of arms enfolded her from behind, and the soothing tones of her other best friend, Beth Reynolds, murmured against her ear. ‘Of course you are. We’ve got you now.’ Knowing it to be true, some of the desperate panic seizing Eliza’s heart eased.

She sat up a little, and her friends eased back from the embrace to look at her. Beth offered her a tissue, and the three of them laughed when Eliza blew her nose, making enough noise to put a baby elephant to shame. Libby stood up. ‘I’m going to raid the kitchen for some plates and glasses, be right back.’

Eliza heard her talking to someone on the landing, her brother, Sam, from the deepness of the tone, and sure enough he followed Libby into the room. ‘I’m not stopping,’ he said. ‘Just making a contribution to the cause.’ He held up his hands to show a chocolate fudge cake, then placed it on a free space on her dressing table. Bending at the waist, he brushed a quick kiss on Beth’s cheek and whispered something in her ear.

It had been weird for Eliza at first when Sam and Beth had started dating that spring. But seeing the way they gravitated towards each other every time they were in the same space, it was clear they were head over heels. Although Sam kept his bedroom at the pub, he spent almost all of his free time at Beth’s and Eliza doubted it would be too long before they were living together officially. Her heart twisted. As much as she adored them both and wanted nothing but their happiness, the easy way they had with each other served only to drive home how much Eliza had lost.

Returning with plates and glasses, Libby sent a mock-pout towards Sam as he straightened up from Beth’s side. ‘What about me?’ She puckered her lips at Sam, making kissing noises.

He blew her a kiss then ruffled her wild, spiky hair. ‘What are we calling this, seasick green?’

‘Mermaid, actually.’ She poked her tongue out at him. ‘Why are you still here?’

With a grin, he held his hands up in surrender as he backed towards the door. ‘I’m leaving, I’m leaving.’

The light-hearted interlude provided enough of a distraction for Eliza to calm her tears. She mopped her face dry whilst Libby removed three parcels wrapped in white paper from the carrier bag and placed each on a plate. She handed one to Eliza. ‘Small haddock and chips, and—’ she pulled a Styrofoam cup from the bag ‘—Mushy peas.’

She wasn’t the least bit hungry, but not wishing to offend her friend, Eliza tugged the paper open. Her mouth watered as the smell of hot chips and vinegar hit her nostrils, making her realise she hadn’t eaten anything beyond half a slice of toast that morning. Tipping the contents of the paper onto her plate, she dumped the pot of peas next to it and her stomach gave a rumble of approval. Libby offered her some cutlery, which she accepted with a grateful smile. ‘Thanks for this.’

Libby shrugged. ‘With the kind of staff discount I get, it’s no big deal.’ Given that Libby’s dad owned the local fish and chip shop just a few doors along the promenade from the pub, that was something of an understatement. Libby handed Eliza a glass of wine. ‘And I scored this from your mum on my way through the bar, so freebies all round.’ She clinked her glass against Eliza’s. ‘Cheers.’

Eliza returned the gesture, took a large mouthful then placed her glass on the bedside table. Silence settled over the three of them as they each began to eat. She knew they must be full of questions, but the fact they didn’t push her to talk proved once again how important the bond between them was. She should never have let Martin talk her into moving so far away.

The food in her mouth formed into a hard lump and she reached for her wine to wash it down. ‘What am I going to do?’

Beth set her knife and fork together. ‘About what?’

A bitter laugh escaped Eliza. ‘Everything. You know, I lie on this bed every night running over the last ten years of my life and I can’t tell you what Martin’s honest opinion is about anything. I used to credit the fact we never argued as a sign of a healthy relationship, but now I realise he just said whatever he thought I wanted to hear.’ She rubbed her aching eyes. ‘If he wanted to do something, he just went ahead with it and then would make out he’d done it for our benefit. If it was something I wanted, and it didn’t interfere with his plans then he just let me get on with it.’

Their house was a prime example. Martin had found it, even gone so far as to research the mortgage payments, access to local facilities, how much money they could save compared to renting because of the cheaper cost of living—everything to make the fact he’d already accepted a job hundreds of miles from their home town seem perfectly logical. When it came to the interior, he’d given her free rein, saying she was the one with the creative streak and could use it as a template to show off her skills. She’d been so excited at the prospect, she’d planned every room down to the smallest nick-nacks, all the while believing it was Martin’s gift to her, his way of making her as happy and as settled as possible in their new environment. In reality, he’d already got what he wanted when she’d agreed to the relocation so he didn’t care whether she painted the kitchen blue, cream or flamingo pink. He’d said as much when she’d asked for his opinion, taking the sheen off her happiness in the process.

And he’d done the same thing when it came to Abu Dhabi, making her believe he was only exploring the possibilities when in reality he’d made it as far as the final interview stage before mentioning it. When he did raise it, he’d bamboozled her with stacks of information, from how much money he would make over three years, to brochures about winter cruises around the Arabian Gulf, to estimates on the monthly rent they’d get by letting their home out.

Some might call the effort he’d gone to thoughtful, but Eliza had felt powerless under the onslaught. There were so very many good reasons for them to do it, the fact she simply hadn’t wanted to go felt selfish. Though not as selfish as walking out at the last moment. Her guilty conscience had a point. Martin had only gone ahead and done those things because she hadn’t stood up to him. Not quite sure what she wanted to do with her life beyond something creative, she’d chosen a university course which covered a broad spectrum of art and design hoping to settle upon a specialty eventually. She’d dabbled in everything from pottery to dress-making and loved it all.

Then Martin had been headhunted in their final year while she’d still been uncertain which direction to go in. After much soul-searching they’d agreed she would put her further studies on hold for a couple of years until Martin was settled in at work and she’d found herself a job working for the local council as an administrator.

She’d channelled her creative interests into their house and making her own clothes. After taking a few commissions from people she worked with who admired her style, she’d branched out into selling online via Etsy. Her little shop had ticked over thanks to word of mouth recommendations, but she’d never quite got to grips with marketing it properly. Somehow, two years had stretched into four, and still the timing hadn’t been quite right for her to go back to school.

And now here she was with a wasted degree, a raft of general office skills and no idea what to with herself. She threw herself back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. ‘What am I doing with my life? What was the point in leaving Martin to end up back here pulling pints night after night?’

Beth took her hand and shook it gently to draw Eliza’s attention to her. ‘You don’t have to justify your decision to anyone in this room other than yourself. And, whatever you decide we will support you.’

‘But—’

‘Whatever.’ Beth cut off the protest from Libby with a glare past Eliza’s shoulder.

‘All right,’ Libby grumbled. ‘But I still think Martin is a wanker.’

A snort of laughter bubbled from Eliza as Beth simply shook her head. Libby had always been the most plain spoken of the three of them, and Eliza hoped that would never change. She didn’t want them to pretend around her, she needed their honesty, even if it hurt sometimes. She owed it to them to be honest too. ‘My marriage is over. It’s not about the move to Abu Dhabi, that was just the final straw. I haven’t been happy for a long time, and I’m as much to blame for that as Martin. I’m twenty-six years old and I’ve got absolutely nothing to show for my life. I can’t go backwards, but I have no idea how to move on, or what I want to move on to.’

Silence settled over the room for a few minutes as they all absorbed the import of her statement. Eliza waited for her heart to reject her admission that things were over for good with Martin, for her soul to cry out in protest and insist what they’d had was worth fighting for. There were no tears, no flutters of panic, just a deep sense of calm settling over her. It hurt. God, did it hurt, to know she was closing the door on what had been her day-to-day reality for the past ten years. But it didn’t feel like she was making a mistake. She knew what she didn’t want, now if only she could work out what she did.

Two weeks after her outburst, Eliza found herself round at Beth’s place hiding out from her dad who wanted to talk her through the orders for that week. He and her mum were still gung-ho about teaching Eliza the ins and outs of the pub, and she hadn’t plucked up the courage to tell them not to pin their hopes on her. It didn’t seem right turning them down until she could offer a better reason than that she didn’t want to do it. She needed a life plan, and she needed one fast.

‘And you still haven’t heard a word from Martin?’ Beth paused in the act of cleaning the glass display cabinet behind the counter of her shop to stare incredulously at her. She’d inherited the old emporium on the seafront at Lavender Bay when her friend and childhood guardian, Eleanor, had passed away earlier in the year. Beth had updated the place to reflect her own tastes, but it still carried the eclectic, fun-loving spirit of the original owner, whose name now graced the business.

Eliza shook her head, glad for the way the tumble of curls shielded her face from Beth’s intent look. Martin was refusing to acknowledge any of the emails and messages she’d sent him. Until they could open a dialogue, she was stuck in limbo. Frustration gnawed at her gut. ‘Nothing.’

She’d sent him a message to let him know where she was, and then followed it up with several requests to talk. The last one she’d sent had been a couple of days ago after she’d transferred the funds from her ISA into her bank account—the interest rate was so low it wasn’t worth hanging onto it—and updated her passwords. She’d felt guilty about it as she and Martin had always had access to each other’s account details but had heeded Libby’s advice to make sure she had sole control over what was rightfully hers. Living at the pub covered her bed and board for the time being, so she just need a bit of spending money to cover incidentals. They’d have to sort out all their financial stuff in due course, but the rent from their house covered the mortgage and she was happy to let the current lease run its course. Hopefully, Martin would come around in time. It would be a lot easier on the both of them if he did.

Eliza flicked a feather duster over the spinning rack of postcards. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

A soft hand touched her shoulder, and Eliza turned to find Beth had abandoned her cleaning. ‘Of course we can, I didn’t mean to pry. I’ll stick the kettle on and we can have a brew…’ The bell above the door jangled, indicating the arrival of a new customer. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘I’ll make the tea,’ Eliza offered.

Beth nodded then turned to the couple who’d entered. ‘Welcome to Eleanor’s Emporium!’

Leaving the couple to browse, Beth accepted a mug from Eliza and rested her hip against the counter. ‘Have you thought any more about what you’re going to do if running the pub is out of the question?’

Eliza took a sip of tea, winced as the too-hot liquid burnt her tongue and shook her head. ‘Not really.’ Setting down the mug, she adjusted the shoulder of her peach cotton blouse where it had slipped down to reveal the edge of her bra-strap. With loose sleeves which stopped just above her elbows, and a row of gentle pleats down the back, it was one of her favourite styles and perfect for the sweltering weather that had settled over the bay. She’d adapted the design from an old pattern she’d found and had built a summer wardrobe around a half-dozen versions of it in various pastel shades.

‘Oh, I love your top, it looks so cool and comfortable!’ Startled, Eliza looked up to find the couple had made their way to the counter with an eclectic selection of items, including a couple of the floaty scarves. It was the woman who’d spoken, and she gestured to the scraps of material. ‘I’m hoping these will keep the sun off without making me any hotter.’

As someone who caught the sun easily, Eliza had every sympathy for her. ‘It’s certainly a scorcher out there. I have to cover up too, or I’ll be red as a lobster.’

The woman smiled, then cast a pretend glare at the man with her. ‘Some people tan to perfection, it makes me sick.’ There was no malice in her tone, and the man flashed a bright grin showing he wasn’t in the least bit offended. Turning back to Eliza, the woman eyed her blouse. ‘You must tell me where you got that lovely top, is it somewhere local?’ She sounded hopeful.

‘I made it myself, I make most of my clothes.’ Eliza stepped back to show the long, tiered skirt she’d paired with the blouse.

‘They’re beautiful, you should sell them,’ the woman said. ‘I’d snap them up in a second.’

The man nudged her shoulder. ‘Come on, you. Let’s find an ice cream and a spot in the shade before you convince this poor girl to give you the clothes off her back.’

Brain whirring, Eliza took another step back while Beth finished serving the pair who left with cheery waves. Her eyes roamed over the cluttered shelves of the emporium. Beth already stocked jewellery and other small artworks from local craftspeople, perhaps she might find room for a few bits and pieces…

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Eliza glanced up to find Beth giving her a Cheshire cat grin.

‘Maybe…’ Eliza bit her lip. ‘But I wouldn’t want to impose.’

‘Oh, rubbish.’ Beth waved away her comment. ‘I’m a hard-headed businesswoman these days and you know it. I’m only interested in stock that will sell, and from the covetous looks that woman was giving your outfit, I reckon I’d be on to a winner.’

‘It would be worth a try,’ Eliza mused. ‘And in addition to selling them here I can set up online. It’s pretty straightforward, and I’ve still got my Etsy store.’ She’d put her account on hiatus, but a couple of clicks and she’d be back up and running.

And it didn’t have to be just clothes. She could run up some pretty cushions and other soft furnishings. Or make some soaps and scented candles. People loved to buy homemade things, and she could even rent a pitch at car boot sales or craft fairs. It would be a lot of work, but it would be her work. And if she could add a local twist to some of her products, something to tie them in to Lavender Bay…of course! When the idea came to her, it was so obvious she could’ve smacked herself for not thinking of it sooner. ‘I need to pay the Gilberts a visit. What do you think about a range of beauty products and scented candles using lavender from their farm?’

Beth sipped her tea, eyes sparkling with excitement over the rim of her mug. ‘I think you’ve got yourself the makings of a fantastic business. You’ll need a hook, though. A brand that reflects who you are and the fact everything is homemade, not mass-produced.’

‘I’m not very good at marketing,’ Eliza confessed. It had been what had held her back before. She’d never been great at pushing herself forward into the limelight.

‘I didn’t have a clue when I took over this place, but it’s a lot easier than I expected it to be.’ Beth reached for her phone. ‘That Instagram account Libby persuaded me to open with Banana Monkey was a stroke of genius. He’s got so many followers, it’s ridiculous!’

Eliza’s eyes strayed to the giant wooden banana standing pride of place just inside the door. The monkey perched on the top was modelling a pair of fluorescent pink sunglasses and a floppy sunhat. Eleanor, the original owner of the emporium, had purchased the monstrosity and he’d been a firm fixture ever since. ‘I love the photos you post on that account.’

Beth grinned. ‘Exactly! I linked it to Facebook and Twitter so everything I post gets shared there automatically. I’ve even had a few customers pose with him and got them to hashtag the emporium.’

‘I’d need something of my own, though…’ Eliza rested her elbows on the counter as she thought about it. ‘If I can get the Gilberts on board then I can make lavender the central theme.’

‘Yes!’ Beth scrolled through her phone. ‘Look, there’s lots of popular lavender hashtags already. What about Made in Lavender Bay?’

‘Hmm.’ It had possibilities, but Eliza wanted something more personal, something to reflect the care and attention she took over the things she made. ‘How about With Love from Lavender Bay?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Or is that too cheesy?’

‘Oh, I love that! And I don’t think it’s cheesy, I think it’s adorable. You could make a little logo, like a heart made from stalks of lavender twisted together.’

Eliza couldn’t help but giggle, the excitement building inside her was too much to contain. If she made the logo simple enough, she could stitch it onto the clothes as well. ‘I’ve got to go and write all this down!’ She’d made it halfway around the counter before she spun back to peck a kiss to Beth’s cheek. ‘You’re amazing. Thank you.’

Feeling positive for the first time in months Eliza practically skipped through the front door of The Siren. A familiar sandy-curled head appeared from behind the bar, followed by a set of broad shoulders as her brother rose to his full height. ‘Hey, where’ve you been hiding?’

The smile on her face threatened to split her cheeks. ‘Not hiding, plotting my new venture with your gorgeous girlfriend.’

A dreamy look crossed Sam’s face. ‘She is gorgeous, isn’t she?’

Eliza rolled her eyes at the goofy expression, though secretly she was delighted to see her big brother so clearly smitten. He’d always been a bit of a rolling stone when it came to previous girlfriends, but Sam had fallen hook, line and sinker this time. ‘I’m guessing she’s about the same as when you left her this morning.’ She’d only meant to tease him, but wondered if she’d missed the mark when a frown crossed his brow.

‘Is everything all right with us? You don’t mind about me and Beth being together, do you?’

Hurrying around to the other side of the bar, Eliza threw her arms around his waist to give him a hug. ‘Of course, I don’t mind. It was a bit weird to begin with, but you guys are so good for each other—anyone can see that.’

Sam squeezed her back. ‘I’m really happy, Eliza.’

She loosened her arms to look up at him. ‘Good.’ A lump formed in her throat out of nowhere. She seemed to teeter on the edge of tears at the slightest thing, and it was getting on her nerves. Leaving Martin had been the right thing to do, and she still had no regrets over it, but that didn’t stop her mourning for what might have been or feeling guilty over her own part in the failure of their marriage. If it had been unremittingly awful—if he’d cheated on her or treated her badly—then things might have been easier. Instead it had been a slow, steady decline, as the bonds of love frayed away until nothing remained but a few strings of familiarity and a legal tie rather than any meaningful remnant of those vows they’d said to each other.

‘Ah, Eliza, don’t look so sad, I can’t stand it.’ Sam tugged a lock of her hair. ‘Besides, crying makes you look ugly.’ He danced back out of reach with an evil grin on his face.

Outrage at his teasing chased away her sadness, exactly as he’d intended, no doubt. ‘At least I’m only ugly when I cry, mister, which is more than can be said for you.’

‘Ouch.’ Sam staggered back clutching at his chest, then grinned at her. ‘So come on then, tell me all about this new venture of yours.’

As she helped him set up the bar for the day, Eliza explained about the customer admiring her clothes and how that had snowballed into plans for her own creative empire. ‘I’ll have to supplement it with working here at first because I’ll need every penny I can lay my hands on to invest in materials and equipment.’ Some of her excitement ebbed away. ‘Mum and Dad won’t be thrilled about it, I think they have their heart set on me taking over this place now you’ve got your restaurant and everything.’

Sam paused in the act of wiping down the bar and fixed green eyes the exact same shade as her own on her. ‘And they’ll get over it the same way they did when I told them about Subterranean. All they really want is for us to be happy and successful. Speaking of which…’ He pulled a thick white envelope out of his back pocket and placed it on the bar between them.

‘What’s this?’ Flipping it over, she spotted the name of the local council on the post mark, and excitement bubbled inside. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ A trained chef, her brother wanted to convert the pub’s old skittle alley down in the cellar into a high-class restaurant. The plans had been drawn up and submitted for planning permission, and Sam had been on tenterhooks ever since.

Sam scrubbed the back of his neck. ‘Yep.’ The look on his face was an agonised combination of hope and worry. ‘What if they said no?’

Coming home to help run the pub after their father fell ill had meant a lot of sacrifices for Sam. The Grand Diplôme from the Cordon Bleu he’d worked so hard towards should have been his ticket to a dazzling future, but life got in the way. His plans for Subterranean offered the perfect solution to achieving his dreams.

She lifted the envelope, feeling the thick wad of paper inside as though she could somehow fathom its secrets. It wasn’t just a single sheet, so that had to be a good thing, right? ‘If you don’t open it, you’ll never know.’

Sam laughed as he approached to pluck the envelope from her hand. ‘Thanks for the deep and meaningful advice, Yoda.’

‘You could always take it next door and open it with Beth.’

To her surprise, her brother shook his head. ‘No. If it’s bad news, I’m going to need some time to think about it before I talk to her.’ He tossed the envelope back on the bar. ‘Christ, just when it seems like everything is falling into place.’ Tucking his hands on his hips, he blew out a breath.

Her heart ached for the dilemma he might be facing. Give up his dream career, or give up his new-found love. Beth might have been ambivalent about taking over the emporium at first, but it had become obvious to Eliza in the past weeks since her own return to the bay that her friend was here to stay. And if Sam didn’t get the approval for his restaurant, she couldn’t see him sticking around for the long term.

God, she was as bad as Sam, borrowing troubles when there might be no reason for it! The idea for the restaurant was a sound one, and surely the council would be keen on something that provided a new attraction for visitors to the bay. Picking up the envelope, she thrust it at her brother. ‘Open it, so we can start celebrating.’

‘When did you get so pushy?’ He was smiling though as he eased open the self-adhesive flap.

Eliza flipped back the curls hanging over one shoulder and stuck her nose in the air with a sniff. ‘It’s the all-new assertive me, do you like it?’

He chuckled. ‘I kinda do, but don’t go changing too much, I’m very fond of my sweet little sister.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘Okay, here goes.’

Impatience gnawed at Eliza as she watched his eyes flicker back and forth as he scanned the top page of the stack of documents. A frown creased his brow, and she had to force herself not to wince. Damn, she’d been so sure it would be good news. Reaching for him, she forced a smile. ‘It’s only the first attempt, we can try again. If they don’t want you to use the pub, we can look for an alternative venue.’

Blinking, Sam looked up from the papers. ‘What? Oh no, it’s good news. They have a couple of alterations they’d like me to make, but I have approval subject to those conditions.’

‘You do? Oh my God, that’s amazing!’ Eliza clapped her hands together, relief flooding through her. It was about damn time their family had some good news.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sam grinned brighter than the sunshine flooding through the front window. ‘I’ve only bloody done it!’

Laughing, Eliza flung herself into his arms. ‘You bloody did it!’ They danced around in a circle, almost falling over each other’s feet in the small space behind the bar.

‘What’s all the noise?’

Eliza turned at their mother’s question, and it was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out the good news. She stopped herself just in time and nudged Sam in the ribs. ‘Tell her.’

‘Subterranean got the go ahead from the council.’ He held out the letter to Annie.

‘You did? Oh, Sam, that’s wonderful! Your dad will be so thrilled.’ There was no mistaking the relief in their mum’s voice as she joined them in a group hug. Her cheeks were streaked with tears when she pulled back to regard them both. ‘Looks like you’re here to stay then, Sam.’ When he nodded, Annie turned her full attention to Eliza. ‘And what about you?’

Knowing it was time to bite the bullet, Eliza took a deep breath. ‘I’m not going anywhere for the foreseeable future.’

Chapter Four

Jack chugged along the ruts on either side of yet another row of lavender, muttering curses over the sweltering weather. Even with the side windows fully open, the glass windscreen of the tractor magnified the heat of the mid-afternoon sun leaving him drenched in sweat. Since the first night after he’d transferred the new plants to the field, there’d been not a drop of rain and the forecast for the week showed little sign of any materialising. After chatting it through with his mum, they’d decided to water manually—well, mechanically. Reaching the end of the field, he turned the tractor and the water bowser attached to the towing hitch, lined up over the next row, then parked up and turned off the engine. The sudden silence came as a relief. Noah had suffered another terrible nightmare and another sleepless night combined with worry over his nephew had left Jack with a banging headache.

After clambering from the cab, he rummaged inside the rucksack beneath his seat and pulled out a bottle of water. He placed the bottle against his aching forehead. Sighing in relief as the chilly surface eased a little of the tension, Jack opened the bottle and drank. The cold liquid soothed his parched throat and he drained half the bottle before capping it again. The cloth he’d tied around his neck to protect it from the glare of the sun was soaked. He tugged it off to wring it out, using a bit of water from the bottle to rinse the worst of the sweat from it, then draped it over the bonnet of the tractor. The combined heat from the engine and the sun would dry it out in no time.

His shirt was in a similar state, and he tugged it away from the base of his back in the hopes of allowing the faint breeze to cool his skin. It did little to ease his discomfort, so he quickly unbuttoned the soft denim and shrugged out of it, shuddering a little as the clammy material stuck to his skin. He tied the sleeves in a loop around the side mirror on the tractor to hang in the sunshine, then took another long draft from the water bottle.

Squatting on his heels, he sighed as the body of the tractor offered a respite from the heat and studied the nearest lavender plant. Strong pale green stalks radiated out from the base, forming a dome with the first hints of the spears which would soon be laden with tiny purple flowers showing. A few more days, a week—maybe two—and the whole farm would be transformed into delicate blankets of every shade from palest lilac to deep imperial purple. There was plenty of work to be done between now and then.

With a soft groan, he stood and stretched his arms over his head to loosen the kinks in his spine. Another couple of hours bouncing around in the tractor’s seat would leave his body vibrating from scalp to toes, but it had to be done. Gritting his teeth at the state his head would be in by the end of the day, he reached for his shirt, intent on untying the sleeves when a soft, feminine voice hailed him. ‘Hello! Mr Gilbert?’

Jack spun on his heel, catching his elbow on the jutting out mirror in the process. ‘Shit!’ He rubbed the sharp pain and studied the small figure waving at him from the other side of the field. Shrouded beneath a huge floppy straw hat and swathed in layers of white linen, it was hard to distinguish much about her, other than her diminutive size.

Shading his eyes with one hand, Jack cast a glance down the sloping path she must have followed. Plenty of locals—and tourists—liked to stroll along the public footpath which led them out of the bay, along the edges of the farm and back towards the cliffs that tumbled into the surf marking the far end of town. His unexpected visitor had strayed far from that route though, ignoring plenty of ‘Private Property – Keep Out’ signs in the process.

Striding along the top of the field, he closed the gap between them. ‘Are you lost? The public footpath is back that way.’ He gestured impatiently hoping she’d take the hint.

The wide brim of the hat tilted up, revealing a pair of pale green eyes and a small, slightly upturned nose spattered with freckles. She was a lot younger than he’d expected from the way she’d buried herself under layers of white cotton and linen. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t quite place her. For a brief moment he wondered if they’d dated in the past before dismissing it. She looked too sweet for his tastes. A shy smile lifted the corners of her delicate mouth, confirming his instincts. Definitely too sweet. For some reason that only served to irritate him further.

‘Not lost.’ Her smile faltered for a second before she tried again. ‘I knocked at the farmhouse, but there was no answer. I looked for a shop, but you don’t seem to have one.’

Well, she’d certainly had a good nose around the place. Jack folded his arms across his chest, remembering belatedly that his shirt still fluttered from the tractor’s wing mirror. ‘This is a working farm, as you can see. We’re too busy to play bloody shopkeepers.’

Her eyes seemed to follow the motion of his arms, then skittered away as a ruddy blush brought roses to the pale cream of her cheeks. ‘Oh…um…I assumed you’d have one to sell your lavender. That’s why I’m here…to buy some, I mean.’ Her hand waved vaguely towards the field at his back.

Hot and tired, and with still several hours of work left to do, Jack felt the reins on his patience slip. ‘We already have a wholesaler we deal with, and I’m not in the market to change. Especially not to some random cold-caller who can’t be bothered to make an appointment first.’

Her face flushed, her embarrassment at his sharp words etched plain in her shocked gaze. Jack shrugged away his momentary discomfort. It was her own bloody fault for trespassing.

Her next words wound his frustration levels back up again. ‘Oh, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I’m not from a company, I was just looking to buy a few things for myself. I want to use it for making soap, scented candles, that kind of thing…’ Not even a company rep, then. Just some woman with a new hobby looking to buy a tenner’s worth of product—twenty quid, tops. He scowled. This conversation with her had cost him more than that in wasted time.

A sudden gust of wind tugged at the brim of her hat and she clapped a hand on top of it to hold it in place. ‘Well, I can see you’re busy…I’m sorry to have bothered you…’ The woman took a sidestep which placed her directly in the line of the sun, turning the diaphanous drapes of her skirt almost see-through. His attention strayed to the shapely curves of hip and thigh, then to the way the angle of her upraised arm strained the cotton of her blouse over her breasts. Who’d have thought so many secret delights lay beneath all those layers?

God, she’s lovely.

The thought completely blindsided him, and he faked a cough as an excuse to turn away from her. When he looked back, her eyes were fixed on him, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. That hesitant expression making it clear she hoped for some reassurance otherwise, but she had bothered him, and in ways he wasn’t ready to analyse. There was too much going on in his life, the last thing he needed was a distraction—not even one as pretty as this delicate beauty. It wasn’t like he was in a position to ask her out, or any other woman for that matter. The sorry state of his romantic life added another layer of frustration to his already frayed temper.

Jack rubbed his aching temples, wishing like hell he’d never got out of bed that morning. ‘If you’ve finished wasting my time, I assume you can find your own way back out?’

He was already striding away as more stuttered words of apology spilled from her lips, and he hunched his shoulders as though to ward off the guilty waves lashing him over such rude behaviour. It didn’t matter how attractive she was, after that display she’d likely run a mile if she ever laid eyes on him again.

Frustrated, hot, and overwhelmed by a sudden sense of longing for simpler days when his only responsibility was to stick in a hard day’s graft, Jack snatched his shirt from the mirror and thrust his arms into it, then grabbed his now-dry neckerchief and knotted it around his throat. He swung into the cab of the tractor and turned the key, wincing as the engine coughed, shuddered and rattled into an ominous silence. No, no, no, don’t do this. He tried again and the starter mechanism whirred, but didn’t catch.

Flinging himself back down to the ground, Jack stomped around to the side of the engine block and unlatched the cover. A hint of white caught his eye and he turned to watch the woman disappear around the corner of the hedge edging the field. He didn’t believe in karma, or any of those flights of superstitious fancy…but if he did, then the universe had just given him a serious kick in the arse for his behaviour towards her.

Covered in grease, dust and sweat, Jack finally parked the tractor in the rear yard. He was in such a foul mood he couldn’t even be bothered to uncouple the bowser and return it to its storage spot. He just stomped into the mud room and kicked off his boots. Turning the tap over the metal sink on with his elbow, he reached for a thick bar of soap and began to lather his filthy hands and lower arms under the stream of water. The tangy scent of the mass-produced soap stung his nostrils, and his mind strayed unwillingly to thoughts of the woman from earlier. He could picture her delicate little nose wrinkling at the overpowering smell, and—he gave himself a rueful sniff—not just from the bar in his hands.

She’d been too far away for him to catch a hint of her perfume, but he would bet his last pound on it being something as pretty and fresh as she’d looked. Something sweet and tempting—cherry blossom, or roses. One of the ideas he’d had for expanding the farm had been to turn the old, neglected vegetable patch they’d abandoned since his father’s death into a huge bed of roses. Good quality rose oil was in as high a demand as lavender, and the scruffy, weed-strewn patch was over half an acre. More than enough room for a trial area. If Jason had agreed to the plan they would’ve had their first batch of oil—something else the pretty soap-maker might have been interested in. Jack rolled his eyes; he was not in the market for tuppenny ha’penny deals, no matter how sweet her smile.

The inner door to the kitchen swung open, and Jack glanced over his shoulder at his mum. ‘Hello love.’ She greeted him with a smile. ‘You’re late tonight. I’ve stuck you a plate in the oven and Noah’s just finishing off his reading and that’s the last of his homework.’

Thank God she was there to pick up the slack. His weren’t the only plans that’d been thrown into chaos by Jason’s death. Their mum had wanted to take a back seat on the farm, had even talked about finding a little place to live down in the bay before setting her heart on the old farmworker’s cottage. All that had gone on hold for the foreseeable future, though. ‘Cheers, Mum. I’ve had a shit afternoon, not helped by some random woman swanning about the place thinking she can buy a couple of sprigs of lavender for some stupid bloody craft hobby, and then the tractor breaking down. I managed to get it going, but it doesn’t sound happy. If I can’t work out what the problem is tomorrow, we’ll have to get someone in.’ And that would cost a small fortune, no doubt. They had an annual budget set aside for repairs and maintenance, but still, it was another complication they could do without.

His mum gave him a sympathetic wince. ‘You look fed up. Get yourself showered and then eat your dinner, hopefully that’ll make you feel better.’

He nodded. ‘And I might treat myself to a cold beer, too.’

Her next words depressed him even more. ‘I don’t think there’s any in the fridge, but I’ll check.’

She turned aside, making room for Bastian to come wagging out of the kitchen to greet him with a cold nose shoved against the bare skin where Jack’s shirt still hung unbuttoned. Jack yelped and flicked his wet fingers at the dog. ‘Get off, you daft thing.’

His mum reappeared. ‘No beer, love, sorry. Why don’t you take this one for a walk down into town and treat yourself to a pint and a bit of company? You’ve hardly stopped for days and I can see to Noah for the rest of the evening.’ She closed the gap between them to cup his stubble-roughened cheek. ‘I’m worried about you, Jack. You need to take a break.’

His bad mood evaporated under the deep concern in her. ‘I’m all right, I promise.’ Stretching his legs after a long day cooped up in the tractor sounded like a bloody good idea, though. And just maybe he could find a pretty girl down the pub for a chat, maybe a stroll along the promenade and a kiss or two if he was lucky. The image of a pair of moss-green eyes and a freckled snub nose rose in his mind before he dismissed them. If he bumped into the woman he’d been so rude to that afternoon he’d be lucky if she didn’t kick him in the balls. ‘A walk will do me good, and poor Bastian too, I bet. Thanks, Mum, you’re the best.’

She winked at him as she dropped her hand. ‘And don’t you forget it. Go on, hop to, and I’ll butter you a slice of bread to go with your dinner.’

As his mum had predicted, a shower, change of clothes and a hot meal had done the power of good to lift his spirits and chase the worst of his fatigue away. She and Noah had ensconced themselves on the sofa in front of The Lego Movie and had both seemed perfectly content to carry on without him. With a whistle to Bastian, Jack gathered the dog’s lead, a disreputable looking tennis ball and a pocket torch for the way back and set off across the circular driveway towards the footpath leading down into Lavender Bay.

It was a pleasant evening, and as they drew closer to town a refreshing breeze came in from the sea, lifting his mood even further. The walk down from the farm had taken just under fifteen minutes so although his mouth was watering at the prospect of a cold pint, Jack took the time to head down onto the beach to let Bastian have a really good run. There were plenty of people strolling along the promenade, as well as a few hardy souls who were paddling their toes in the sea as the evening dusk drew trails of pink, orange and indigo across the sky. The sun had been hot, but it was still early enough in the season for the water to remain frigid.

He shared a smile with a shrieking woman and the laughing man beside her who’d got caught out by a wave splashing halfway up their calves. It was his own turn to curse as Bastian came pounding through the surf, tongue lolling around his tennis ball, sending a spray of icy water soaking the front of Jack’s T-shirt. ‘Cheers, mate!’ Jack shook his head at the dog, who dropped the ball at his feet, tail wagging a mile a minute.

Stooping, he picked up the ball and tossed it again, making sure to aim up the beach this time. Bastian charged off with Jack in slower pursuit and the pair met near the steps leading back up to the prom. ‘Enough for now? Let’s see if we can get us both a nice cold drink.’ He clipped the short leather lead onto the dog’s matching collar and led him up the steps.

Laughter, music and the smell of hops and rich gravy greeted him in a delicious wave of sensation as Jack pushed open the door to The Siren. Pausing just inside, he caught the eye of a familiar face behind the bar and nodded down to the dog. ‘He all right?’

‘Jack the Lad! You’re a sight for sore eyes!’ Sam pushed his fringe out of his eyes as he pointed to the other end of the bar. ‘Come around to the side and I’ll get you a dish of water for him.’

He’d first got to know Sam the previous year after the man had returned home to help his parents run the pub. Jason and Jack had been regulars since they’d been old enough to buy a pint, but they’d never really mixed with others their own age. In the way of kids, the two of them being home-schooled had created enough of a barrier to potential friendships.

A few years of maturity on all sides had closed any gaps and once Sam had returned to Lavender Bay, he and Jack had hit it off. ‘Cheers, I appreciate it.’ Jack said when a large metal bowl was placed on the bare patch of tiles next to the raised section of the bar.

Sam straightened up. ‘No trouble, now what about you?’

‘A pint of lager, please.’ Jack looked around the bar whilst he waited. It had been too long since he’d been down into town, but the place looked the same. Accepting the beer placed before him with a nod of thanks, he dug in his pocket for some change and handed it over to Sam. ‘Sorry I haven’t been around for a while, but—’

‘Don’t even mention it, mate. I’m just glad to see you.’ Sam cut him off before Jack could get bogged down in a painful explanation. It was so damn hard to say the actual words and he appreciated the other man’s sensitivity.

Raising his glass, he took a long mouthful of the cold lager and swallowed his grief down along with the bitter brew. ‘Damn, I needed that. So, how’s things been with you?’

The blond man laughed as he slung the handful of coins into the till without bothering to check them. ‘Oh, you know same old, same old. Fell in love, opening a new restaurant. Nothing special.’

‘Nothing special?’ Jack shook his head. ‘Bloody hell, I’ve only been out of the picture for a couple of months and you’re living the dream. Tell me more…’

‘Hello, gorgeous boy! Look at you! Yes, yes, you’re very handsome, aren’t you?’ A familiar soft voice distracted Jack from whatever Sam had been about to say next and he glanced down to see a woman crouched over an ecstatic-looking Bastian. He couldn’t make out her face thanks to the sandy curls tumbling around her shoulders, and she sounded a lot more enthusiastic than earlier, but he had more than a sneaking suspicion of who she might be. Well, damn.

The woman straightened up, one hand still scratching the dog behind his ears, and familiar moss-green eyes met his stare, proving his suspicion correct. ‘Oh. It’s you,’ she said in the way one might observe finding a slug in their salad. ‘What are you doing here?’ Make that half a slug.

Jack gestured to his drink, trying to ignore the heat rising on the back of his neck. Embarrassment over his earlier rudeness doused his good mood. ‘It’s a pub, isn’t it? I’m doing what most people do in one.’ Nice one, you wanker. What was it about her that made him so defensive?

She wrinkled her snub of a nose at him, drawing his attention once again to the smattering of freckles across it. ‘Not for much longer if you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head.’ She glanced away from him to Bastian, crouching once more to lavish the Labrador with attention. ‘Not even if you’ve brought the most gorgeous-looking dog with you.’ The tone she used to address Bastian was infinitely warmer than the one she’d used on Jack.

Sam cleared his throat. ‘You remember my sister, Eliza? She’s not normally this rude.’

Eliza. Memories of giggling girls he’d eyed from across the pub in his teenage years tumbled through his head. So that’s where he’d recognised her from. Although if memory served him right, she’d always been with the same boy.

His trip down memory lane ended abruptly when Eliza straightened up and graced him with a look likely to give him frostbite, even in the middle of the current heatwave. ‘Mr Gilbert took offence when I disturbed him at the farm earlier.’

There was enough of a trace of hurt in her voice to smack some sense into Jack, and he offered her his hand. ‘It’s Jack.’

‘The lad, I heard.’ The look she gave him said she knew exactly why her brother called him that. Jack rolled his shoulders; so he’d played the field a bit, what of it? He’d never been out with a woman who didn’t share the same expectations—and boundaries. Refusing to feel embarrassed when he’d done nothing wrong, Jack decided to skip over it. ‘Look, I’m sorry about earlier. I was in a foul mood, but that’s no excuse for being an arse. Can we start again?’

She eyed his hand warily for a moment before placing her palm against his. Her slender fingers seemed to disappear beneath his as they closed around them, adding to his early impression of her delicacy. ‘All right, then.’

Another customer hailed her, and Eliza made to step behind the bar, then froze to look back at him, then down. When Jack followed her gaze, he realised with a start that he was still holding onto her hand and dropped it with a mumbled apology. Jesus, he needed to get a grip. Or not as the case may be.

Finding his eyes straying towards where she was laughing over the bar at some comment from the man she was serving, Jack shook himself and turned his attention back to Sam. Now he knew the connection between them, it was obvious he and Eliza were related. Same sandy hair, same green eyes. He listened avidly as Sam described his plans to convert the old skittle alley beneath the pub into a high-end restaurant until eventually another customer drew him away.

Settling down on an empty stool, Jack snagged a copy of the local paper which sat folded on the bar next to him. A few minutes of browsing through the latest news, adverts and personal announcements got him halfway down his pint and feeling more relaxed. Bastian had drunk his fill from his bowl and flopped in an untidy heap with his head resting on one of Jack’s feet. His mind strayed back to the problem with the tractor—he’d checked and cleaned the connections and topped up the water in the radiator, but it shouldn’t have overheated the way it had. He would have to go over everything with a fine-toothed comb in the morning and see if he could pinpoint the fault.

A delicious waft of a rich, heady perfume caught his attention and he glanced up to find Eliza’s face an inch or two from his own, that sweet smile curling her mouth at the corners. ‘You don’t strike me as someone who’d be fascinated by the local bowls league.’

Jack frowned, and she tapped the newspaper in front of him. Lost in his thoughts over work, he’d been staring unseeing at a breathless article about the Lavender Bay bowls team’s nail-biting victory over their fiercest rivals from the next town over. His eyes lifted back up to find Eliza still leaning over the bar.

This close, her freckles stood out clearly against her milk-pale skin. The pretty mint-green dress she wore drew attention to the deeper green of her eyes. He tried not to think about touching the pad of his thumb to the dimple next to her rose-red lips. Rose-red lips? He’d clearly spent too long in the sun earlier and it’d cooked his brain. Shoving away the fanciful notions of her beauty, he cleared his throat. ‘Bowls isn’t really my thing. I was miles away.’

Eliza tilted her head, causing the wild curls of her hair to tumble over one shoulder, leaving the other one bare. Her motion drew his eyes lower to a scatter of darker freckles just below her collarbone. Their arrangement held him captive, reminding him of a constellation. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, as though if he stared long enough the pattern would reveal a secret about his future the way the stars spoke to astrologers. Bloody hell, the sun hadn’t just cooked his brain, it’d melted it into mush.

Knowing it had been too long since he’d spoken, Jack wet his lips. ‘I…I was thinking about my tractor.’ Smooth, mate.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, those pretty red lips pursing in amusement.

‘It broke down earlier, after we…ah, met.’ He scrubbed at the stubble on his chin wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He’d never been so tongue-tied in his life. ‘I decided it was probably karma catching up with me.’

Her laugh rippled through him like an electric current. Jack grabbed for his pint and drained most of what remained in the glass. Perhaps he should’ve just upended it over his head because he was acting like some stupid boy with a crush. Yes, he’d come to the pub with half a mind to meet a willing woman for a little fun, but Sam’s sister didn’t strike him as the kind of girl you fooled around with.

No time. No room for this, think about Noah. The reminder doused the embers of attraction before they had chance to do much more than smoulder. The poor kid didn’t know if he was coming or going as it was and needed all the stability Jack and his mum could give him. Introducing a woman into the mix would only cause further confusion to the already vulnerable boy—especially considering the way Noah’s own mother had behaved towards him. Apart from cards at Christmas and his birthday and the odd guilty present in the post, Lydia had remained resolutely absent from Noah’s life since he’d been a baby. Jack would cut his own arm off before he’d bring another woman into his life only to have her walk away when things didn’t work out.

Needing to draw a physical as well as mental line, Jack took a step backwards, disturbing Bastian in the process. The Labrador rose to his feet with a grumbling whine, but soon perked up when he noticed his new favourite person. Installing himself behind the bar, the dog nudged at Eliza’s hand until she began to stroke his ears. ‘Sebastian!’ Jack might as well be talking to himself for all the notice the bloody mutt took of him.

‘He’s all right,’ Eliza crooned. ‘Aren’t you, gorgeous?’

Feeling like whining himself, Jack drained the rest of his beer. ‘Well, I suppose we should be heading back.’

She glanced up at him, then over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s only just after eight, are you sure you don’t want another drink?’ Was she keen to get him to stay, or merely being a practical landlady with one eye on her profits? Either way, it was enough to make him hesitate. ‘Unless you need to go? I suppose you farmers have an early start.’

It would take him quarter of an hour to walk home—less if he was brisk. Even if he stayed for another drink he could still be back by nine. He was doing the school run tomorrow because his mum was heading into Truro to meet an old friend for coffee, so he’d planned to stay close to home doing chores—and trying to sort out the tractor now, of course. There would be hours for any alcohol to clear his system, but after Jason’s accident, Jack was paranoid about anything to do with driving. ‘I don’t have to rush off, but I’ll have a soft drink this time, please.’

‘Coke? Lemonade?’

Craning his neck to study the contents of the low fridge behind her, Jack shook his head. ‘Nothing too sweet…’

Eliza nudged a panting Bastian back to the public side of the bar with her knee, then washed her hands at the sink below the bar. ‘Hmm…we’ve got a nice tonic water with a hint of lime. It’s lovely and refreshing.’

‘Sounds great, thank you.’ Jack tried, and failed, not to notice the way the short skirt of her dress pulled tight around her curvy rear as Eliza bent to retrieve a glass bottle from the fridge. She added ice to a tall, slender glass, poured over half the water and placed it and the bottle on the mat in front of him. He fished a note out of his wallet and accepted the change with a smile. ‘Cheers.’ He took a mouthful and closed his eyes in appreciation at the bitter, fruity tang of his drink.

When he opened them, she was grinning at him. ‘Good, huh?’ She pointed to a cluster of men sitting at a table in the corner. ‘My dad’s a whizz when it comes to anything mechanical. I’m sure he’d be happy to take a look at your tractor if you want a second opinion.’

Caught off guard by the comment, Jack’s immediate reaction was to refuse. As though sensing it, Eliza hurried on quickly. ‘He’s not been well lately, if it wouldn’t be too much inconvenience to you I think it would do him a power of good to feel useful again.’ A hint of worry clouded her pretty eyes.

He still owed her for his earlier rudeness, and to be honest it would be good to get another opinion. He and Jason had always bounced things off each other, and although his mum knew everything when it came to cultivating their crop, she’d always left the machinery maintenance to her husband and then her sons. He knew Paul Barnes well enough to say hello to, having been served plenty of times by him over the years, and he’d always seemed a decent enough guy. What harm could it do? ‘Sure,’ he found himself saying. ‘Why not?’

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