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rolled her eyes for Ellie’s benefit, before addressing her daughter. ‘Run into the farmhouse and have a pee before we head for Salisbury.’

      ‘Do I have to?’ Melody begged, wiggling furiously.

      Swinging her daughter around, Tess gave her a pat on the bottom. ‘Yes, because you need to…’ Taking a deep breath she launched into the Frozen anthem… ‘Let it go…Let it go.’

      Her daughter ran off, struggling to complete the song’s chorus around her delighted giggles.

      ‘Are you going anywhere near the market in Salisbury?’ Ellie asked, once they had both stopped laughing. ‘I was supposed to be helping out my mum today on the stall.’

      ‘Actually, that’s exactly where we’re headed. Melly and I just finished baking the stall’s supply of strawberry shortbread and sourdough loaves. Or rather I baked and Melly ate as many strawberries as she could cram into her mouth.’ She swung round to indicate the trays she’d been loading into the car when Ellie and Art had arrived. ‘Why don’t you tag along?’

      ‘That would be terrific,’ Ellie said, pleased to get the chance to escape her unnecessary concerns about Art. Spending the rest of the afternoon in the company of women seemed like the perfect antidote to the morning’s drama.

       *

      Situated in the historic centre of Salisbury, the city’s main square had served the population since medieval times as a thriving community market. Presided over on one side by the majestic Georgian columns of the Guildhall, which now housed the city council, and hemmed by the patchwork of shopfronts ranging in style from half-timbered Tudor to redbrick Victorian, eight hundred years of the city’s history was here. As Ellie muscled her way from the car park behind the square through the crowds of shoppers buying everything from home-made soap to burritos, it was clear the Artisan Market was still a thriving place of commerce in the present day.

      Indian spices blended with the scent of freshly roasted coffee and patchouli oil. The standard-issue green gazebos vied for space with gleaming metal food trucks and striped awnings, while the jubilant Caribbean riff of a steel band floated over the shouts of the traders and the general hubbub of people enjoying a sunny June afternoon getting lots of retail therapy. A pair of elderly ladies in floral prints inspected a stall laden with hand-sewn cushions next to a gang of teenagers with tattoos and nose rings clustered around another stall peddling multicoloured cupcakes.

      ‘How long has this market been in operation?’ Ellie shouted to Tess as they made their way through the labyrinth, laden down with a tray each of the strawberry shortbread Tess had baked. The few times she’d been to Salisbury in her teens all Ellie could remember was a market full of jumble sale knock-offs that she’d looked down her nose at as a London teenager with vast fashion sophistication.

      Tess glanced back, Melody clinging to the hem of her T-shirt so as not to get lost in the crowd. ‘The Artisan Market? Quite a while. It’s a brilliant venue for us. It attracts a great foodie crowd. But, unfortunately, it’s only on one Sunday a month. Dee also runs a stall at the farmers’ market here every Wednesday and the general markets, on Tuesdays and Saturdays, when she’s not manning stalls at other farmers’ markets around the county.’

      ‘That must require a huge amount of work, doing all that baking?’ Ellie said, readjusting the tray. Her arms were already aching and they had two trays of bread still to transport.

      ‘We don’t just sell baked goods,’ Tess said. ‘Dee does amazing jams and preserves too. And Annie is a whizz with pastry – she’s on a mission to single-handedly reintroduce the wonder of quiche to the south-west of England – and Annie’s husband Rob makes some very nice elderflower fizz when he has the time,’ Tess replied. ‘But yeah, time is a problem because most of us are stuck doing day jobs. So Dee is the one who has to bear the brunt of the work.’ Tess shouldered her tray and sidestepped a queue of people lining up to buy themselves a dosa wrap from a Bombay street food stall. ‘Most of the speciality markets don’t run after Christmas,’ Tess continued. ‘So there is some chance to stock up and catch up on our sleep. But as most of our merchandise is freshly prepared, not much. And, to be honest, the time spent travelling to venues and setting up, and then clearing out, is also pretty prohibitive.’

      Ellie spotted her mother’s stall ahead of them. The queue was even longer than at the dosa wrap one, with her mother in the centre of it all busy chatting with one of her customers while Josh and Toto packed their order into folding cake boxes.

      Seeing them approaching, Dee raised a hand to greet them both.

      Tess ducked round the crowd. She stacked her own tray and lifted Ellie’s out of tired arms, then began adding the cakes to the dwindling supplies on display.

      ‘Mom, me and Toto have been working all morning.’ Josh tugged Ellie’s arm to get her attention. ‘And Granny Dee says she’s going to pay us.’ He did a jaw-breaking yawn as Dee looped an arm around his shoulders.

      ‘He’s been terrific,’ Dee said. ‘A natural salesman just like Toto.’

      Josh grinned up at his grandmother, basking in her praise, and Ellie felt the burst of warmth in her chest. However many mistakes she’d made in the last few months, however much she’d let Josh down, the hare-brained decision to bring him to Wiltshire might turn out better than expected in some regards.

      However stilted her own relationship with Dee, Josh seemed more relaxed than she’d seen him in months.

      Not so Toto though. The wave of regret was swift and fairly painful for Ellie as the girl’s gaze darted away from her.

      Art had told her not to apologise to Toto, but then he was, and had always been, a hard arse. Having watched Josh struggle for over a year to find acceptance with any of the judgemental little body fascists at the expensive private school he attended in Orchard Harbor, Ellie knew she owed Art’s daughter an apology.

      But that would have to wait, until after she’d given Dee news of the morning’s events at A and E. She drew Dee to one side while Josh and Toto helped Tess deal with the queue of customers.

      ‘Mum, I need to tell you something,’ she said.

      ‘I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t wake you,’ Dee said. ‘But you looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to disturb you.’

      ‘I don’t mind.’ Ellie smiled, strangely touched. When was the last time anyone had put her needs first? ‘Actually, as it turns out, it was a fortuitous thing I was at the farm, because Art had an accident and I had to take him to Gratesbury to get his hand stitched up.’

      The colour leached out of Dee’s face. ‘Is he OK?’

      ‘Yes, as long as he doesn’t try playing dodgeball with a rotary blade again.’

      Ellie gave her mother’s hands a reassuring squeeze when her colour failed to return. ‘He’s woozy from all the medication and not too happy with me. And I’m afraid your kitchen looks like the set of a slasher movie, but otherwise he’s fine.’

      ‘He let you take him to the hospital?’ Dee asked.

      So Dee knew about Art’s hospital phobia? Ellie wondered if her mother knew where it came from. And anything about that gruesome scar on his stomach?

      ‘I insisted,’ she said.

      Dee squeezed Ellie’s hands back then let them go. ‘I’m sure that’s an understatement.’ She gave a breathless laugh. ‘But thank you. And thank goodness you were there.’ She tucked her hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture.

      Ellie wanted to question her mother further about Art’s phobia, when Toto’s panicked voice interrupted them.

      ‘Is my dad OK?’ The cake box in her hands had been scrunched into a ball. ‘Is he going to die?’

      ‘No, of course he isn’t.’ Dee captured the girl’s slender shoulders and folded her into a hard hug. ‘He cut his

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