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      ‘No, I’m Izzie,’ Immie said, ‘that’s Immie.’

      ‘Girls,’ said Lauren warningly. ‘They’re teasing you. It’s their favourite party trick. That’s Izzie and that’s Immie. You can tell the difference by their partings.’

      ‘OK,’ said Troy, looking a bit shell-shocked, ‘so you’re Immie and you’re Izzie?’

      ‘Yes,’ they said in unison.

      ‘And what do you like doing best?’ said Troy.

      ‘Park,’ said Immie.

      ‘Picnic,’ said Izzie.

      ‘That sounds a great idea,’ said Troy. ‘Why don’t we all go out for lunch?’

      ‘Don’t want to,’ said Immie.

      ‘Not with you,’ said Izzie.

      ‘Izzie,’ said Lauren, in a warning tone. She could only cut them so much slack. ‘Maybe that’s a bit ambitious for today,’ she said. ‘But we could go to the park if you like.’

      The girls grudgingly capitulated, and she sent them to get their coats.

      Troy said, ‘That was hard work. Do you think they’ll always be this hostile?’

      ‘What the bloody hell did you expect?’ Lauren stared at him in disbelief. ‘Actually that went quite well. They have been known to blank people they don’t like completely.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Troy. ‘Seems I’ve got a lot to learn.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Lauren, ‘you do. Let’s just take things one day at a time, shall we? You’ve got a lot of making up to do.’

      Kezzie got off the train in Heartsease, and walked up the hill with a renewed sense of purpose. She took lungfuls of deep, fresh air, breathing in the country air gratefully. It felt great to be back, away from the fetid smells of London. While it had done her a power of good to see Flick and the others again, she’d forgotten the sheer madness and filth of the place. And although she’d had a fun evening, her sore head was a reminder that sometimes you could have too much of a good thing.

      Kezzie turned out of the station and walked up the High Street, noting with pleasure the pretty redbrick cottages that lined the road leading up to the shops, and noticing anew the interesting variety of little shops, from the little black and white house from which Agnes Mayhew sold her crystals and witchy artefacts, to the sparkling, bright butcher’s shop where she’d taken to buying her bacon. There was Keef’s Café, where she regularly enjoyed a caffè latte, and the vintage dress shop, which sold all manner of gorgeous clothes, and the bakery, which was a daily temptation. She sighed with pleasure. It had been a good move coming here, and after Christmas Flick had promised her that she and Gavin would come over one weekend and help out with the Memorial Gardens.

      As she was walking up the hill, Kezzie met Lauren and the girls walking down the hill with a rather attractive-looking man. The girls were holding tightly on to Lauren’s hands, and Lauren looked distinctly ill at ease.

      ‘Hi,’ said Kezzie, trying not to look as if she was dying with curiosity. This presumably was the ex boyfriend. ‘Where are you off to?’

      ‘The Memorial Gardens,’ said Lauren. She looked embarrassed, as if she’d been caught out at something. ‘By the way, Kezzie, this is Troy.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Kezzie, holding out a hand and shaking the one that had been laconically handed to her. Troy looked at her with a penetrating stare and gave her a dazzling smile. ‘Kezzie, lovely to meet you. Any friend of Lauren’s is a friend of mine.’

      He had a lovely, deep voice, and Kezzie had to admit there was something rather seductive about him. She could certainly see the attraction.

      ‘Mum-eee, I want to go to the park,’ Izzie was tugging her mother’s hand, and Immie looked equally impatient.

      ‘Nice to meet you, Troy,’ said Kezzie, with a grin. ‘See you all later.’

      She made her way up the hill, wondering what was going on with Lauren and Troy. She assumed Lauren had the sense not to have just jumped back into bed with him so soon, but you never knew. Perhaps she really loved the guy, despite what he’d done. Kezzie knew that if Richard turned up suddenly wanting to see her, she wouldn’t have the strength to resist, despite some of the hateful things he’d said to her.

      She let herself into the cottage, taking in with pleasure the ethnic throws on Jo’s rickety sofa, the kilims on the wooden floors and the African masks from Jo’s many trips abroad. Kezzie tried to focus on the here and now, on the life she was leading, not the one she’d lost, but she couldn’t stop herself from remembering that last awful meeting they’d had. Richard, her lovely kind Richard, had been so cold and haughty.

      ‘How could you, Kez?’ He’d looked at her as if she were beneath contempt. ‘I thought I knew you … I was so wrong.’

      Kezzie had been unable to say anything. What was the point in arguing about something that was true? She had let Richard down, and she’d let herself down. And in doing so, she’d lost everything she held dear to her. She deserved it, she knew, but Richard had been so cruel, so unkind – she wasn’t quite as wicked as he painted. Yet even with the painful memories of that last time together, she knew she’d still have him back. Which was all very well, but Richard wasn’t showing any signs of rushing to be by her side. He hadn’t contacted Flick or any of Kezzie’s other friends, and even though she hadn’t been looking on Facebook much, he’d made no attempt to contact her there. He couldn’t email or phone, as she’d changed both her address and number, but if he wanted to, he could get in touch. She knew she hadn’t made it easy for him to find her, but the fact that he hadn’t bothered, hurt most of all.

      This was no good. Having had a nice weekend, she was about to descend into gloom. Kezzie would normally have popped in to see Lauren, but she was clearly otherwise engaged. She knew Joel was still likely to be out to lunch with his mum, so she’d just decided to sit down with a coffee and a cheery DVD when the phone rang. It was Eileen.

      ‘Hi Kezzie, just wondering if you were free,’ she said. ‘Only I thought it would be nice to come and have a chat with you about the Edward Handford exhibition and see what sort of material you’ve got.’

      ‘It’s mainly at Joel’s,’ said Kezzie. ‘Why don’t I give him a ring later and suggest we go and look through it? I know he’s keen to get involved, I’m sure he won’t mind.’

      Joel hadn’t been long in from visiting his mum when he got the phone call from Kezzie announcing she and Eileen were going to come up and look through some of the extraordinary finds he and Kezzie had made.

      Sam was watching Peppa Pig, and Joel had only planned to sit down with a beer and flick through Edward’s diary anyway, so he wasn’t sorry for the company. The evenings were starting to draw in, and the prospect of long, lonely winter nights was not a pleasant one. It would be good to have some company on a Sunday afternoon for a change. The weekends could often seem like the longest part of the week.

      ‘So, let’s have a look at all this material you’ve got,’ said Eileen, as Joel ushered her into the dining room, where he’d been keeping the trunk and its contents out of Sam’s way. He was conscious suddenly of how shabby it looked. He hardly had visitors any more, apart from Kezzie. Maybe he should start thinking about redecorating again. ‘It sounds really fascinating.’

      ‘I know it is,’ admitted Joel. ‘Every time we look at the letters and papers it’s like a treasure-trove and we find something new. I had little idea of who Edward Handford was, apart from the fact that he built the knot garden, until Kezzie started digging. Now I can’t think about anything else. From what I’ve read so far he and Lily had such a lot to contend with – they lost two babies before their eldest, Connie, was born – and I had no idea of any of it. He’s a fascinating character.’

      ‘Not

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