‘We’re coming over at the weekend,’ Matt had announced. Not ‘Are you busy this weekend, Ma?’ or even ‘Can we come and see you?’ Just ‘We’re coming over.’ But that was Matt. He didn’t change.

Caroline was more subtle. ‘Jake’s in Germany at a conference, so the twinnies and I are at a loose end,’ she ventured, leaving the suggestion hanging in the air. At least she let Helen do the inviting.

It was a while since both had visited together – or at all, for that matter, though they phoned, or more often texted, several times a week, and she had spent occasional weekends at their homes. After James died one or other family had arrived almost every weekend, but that had only lasted a few months, until they realized she wasn’t going to fall apart, was coping better than they dared hope. Helen felt a little guilty for being glad. There was a lot they still didn’t know about the aftermath of James’s death, and she would rather they found out when she was ready, not by accident.

And now both of them were descending at once, perhaps that time had come. They were bringing their families too – not Jake, Caz’s easygoing husband, but whatever was on Caroline’s mind would have been firmly planted in Jake’s. They were clearly planning something. Well, she had plans of her own, as they would discover. But in her time, not theirs.

She was on the phone when the first contingent pulled on to the drive. It was Caroline, ever punctual and organized, just as the grandfather clock in the hall struck seven. Helen brought the conversation to a swift conclusion and replaced the receiver with a quiet smile, then quickly tidied away the paperwork relating to those plans before greeting her daughter and hugging the twins. Caroline took their overnight bags upstairs while she put the lasagne in the oven. Matt wouldn’t be far behind.

Sure enough, after ten minutes or so Matt climbed out of his new Audi. Helen joined Caroline in the hall as Anna emerged from the back seat and Matt reached through the other passenger door and reappeared dangling a car seat from one hand with two-year-old Mia sitting in it. Whatever their agenda, this unaccustomed gathering had begun.

*

Lasagne eaten, children in bed, dishwasher stacked and kitchen tidied, the four of them settled in the sitting room with a pot of coffee and, in Matt’s case, a large single malt. There was desultory conversation. Matt’s clever bit of business at the bank sounded like sharp practice to Helen. Caroline’s Austrian au pair’s new boyfriend was teaching Harry and Jack to play cricket. The latest indication of Mia’s superior intellect was recognizing the prime minister on the TV.

Helen waited. If they had something to say, it was up to them to say it. So did she, as it happened, but they could go first.

Typically, it was Matt who made the first move.

‘We’ve been talking, Ma, and we’ve come to a decision. It’s high time you sold this place. It’s far too big now you’re on your own – you must rattle around like a marble in a cabin trunk. You’d be far more comfortable in something smaller. The bank’s been investing in a chain of beautiful retirement villages, all kinds of facilities, one quite close to us as it happens.’

Helen suppressed a smile. Retirement villages, indeed. And when had Matt ever encountered a cabin trunk? And as for concern about her comfort... She cast her mind back to those months after James’s sudden and unexpected death, the secrets and skeletons that had tumbled out, leaving reputations to protect and faces to save. Matt had taken it upon himself to make a series of decisions without a thought for how she might feel about it all. For a while she had been too shell-shocked to care, but later, when she was thinking straight, she made sure he unpicked most of the cleverly worded schemes he had used to take control of the financial affairs that had been James’s and were now indisputably hers. She was quite capable of handling it all herself. As he was about to discover.

Matt had mentioned in his last phone call that Anna was keen to return to work now that Mia was less demanding. He went on to describe the toddler’s tendency to erupt into volcanic tantrums if she didn’t get her own way, but he appeared oblivious to any correlation between these two developments. Helen wasn’t.

Caroline gave her brother an old-fashioned look, and weighed in. ‘What Matt means, Ma, is that this is your time. You don’t want – need – to be saddled with this barn of a place at your time of life. It can’t have the happiest of memories for you after the upheaval Dad caused. And on the practical side, the housekeeper and gardener must be costing you a fortune. Just think of the lovely holidays you could have with what you’d save.’

They certainly had been talking, Helen thought, and come to the same conclusion – a rare occurrence in itself. She wondered which of them first broached the idea: Matt, almost certainly. At least Caroline’s agenda seemed to be genuinely about her comfort.

Anna decided it was her turn to chip in. ‘Just think how much more you’d enjoy your grandchildren if you lived closer to them. Mia would love to see more of you, and I’m sure Jack and Harry—’

Helen pressed her lips together as her daughter-in-law stopped in mid-sentence and Caroline threw her a quizzical glance. Had Anna almost shot herself in the foot? The siblings lived a good three hours apart, with a daunting stretch of busy motorway between them. Caroline and Jake had moved to Kingston-upon-Thames after their refurbished terrace in Bethnal Green had sold for a ridiculous amount. Matt’s bank had moved its head office out of London eighteen months ago, and Matt and Anna had moved with it, into a modern five-bedroomed ‘executive residence’ in a pleasant Cardiff suburb. Conveniently, or perhaps ironically now, the pretty Cotswold village she had lived in with James for nearly twenty years was almost equidistant.

Pretty, yes, but like many villages of its kind, it seemed to place expectations on its residents. Respectability was top of the list; the smallest hint of scandal was to be avoided at all costs, at risk of being made to feel extremely uncomfortable. As Helen was still finding after the evidence of malpractice and betrayal James had left behind. Fortunately the French conversation class in the nearby town had filled the gap which yawned open in her social life. That and...

She emerged from her moment of reflection to find all three of them looking at her expectantly.

‘Well, Ma?’ Matt demanded, sounding even more like his father. ‘What do you think?’

She gazed from one to the other, stood up and moved to the antique escritoire where she had stowed the paperwork before they arrived. She took out the folder and laid the contents on the coffee table. Curiosity creased Caroline’s brow, and she reached for the top document: a glossy sales brochure for the house. Under it lay another, for a charming cottage on the edge of the village in France not far from the one where she and James had spent a few summers before it all went pear-shaped. He had caught the roving eye of the wife of the local mayor, and the consequences were inevitable given his own tendencies. It wasn’t the first time he had strayed, though it never lasted and she had learned to live with it, but it stung more than usual that he had done it while they were on holiday. She and Benoit, the mayor, had met to discuss the situation over a drink, and had stayed in touch. And by the time James died Benoit and Maryse had separated. After that one thing led to another...

Benoit’s divorce had come through a few weeks ago. The cottage had belonged to his elderly mother, and when she decided to move into the nearby maison de retraite, he had bought it from her to cover the fees and set about a programme of refurbishment.

The contents of the folder also included a signed sales contract and a bill from the conveyancing department of a firm of solicitors. Caroline leafed through it all, and wrinkled her nose at Helen.

‘You dark horse,’ she murmured. ‘Good for you.’

Matt was still looking at her, arms folded, oblivious to the papers but clearly expecting a response.

‘Well, Ma?’ he said. ‘I asked you what you think.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Helen said. ‘I didn’t realize I was expected to think anything. I thought you’d already come to a decision. I certainly have.’

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