LITMIR.BIZ

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Acknowledgements

       Are the friends finished with the outdoors for good, or are they ready for another weekend of secrets and unfinished business …? Find out in the next glamptabulous instalments available to buy now!

       About the Author

       About the Publisher

       Chapter 1

      TO: Charlotte Mayfield

      FROM: Lady Venetia of Sittingstone

      RE: Christmas Cake Crisis!

      Darling –

      Venetia here. The crimbo cakes you made whilst ‘the girl’ is off on maternity are absolutely brilliant. What a clever thing you are. The crowd from the hunt scoffed the lot, greedy bastards. I know you’re off to Scotland in a few days to sample the delights of Hogmanay (and a bonnie laird or two?). Any chance you could restock The Larder with your delectable puds before you head to the land of heather and honey? (There’s a story there, darling. It involves a kilt, an icy loch and more than a dram of whisky. Remind me to tell all next time you’re round.) Have tucked your Christmas pressie behind till in Larder if our paths don’t cross. Happiest of hols and mwah from moi – V

      PS – If you’re able to do me one of those gooey lemon drizzles of yours, I’d be eternally in your debt. (A sugar high is the only thing that will see me through my son’s return.)

      ‘Mum! Get out!’

      ‘Sorry, darling.’ Charlotte made a beeline for the washing basket. ‘I was just checking if you had anything that needed urgent washing before your ski trip tomorrow.’

      Poppy glared at her then burst into tears.

      Charlotte took some tissues off her daughter’s bedside table and carried them over to the beanbag, where Poppy had buried her forehead against her knees after flinging her phone to the floor. A lame joke about Boxing Day not having anything to do with tissue boxes briefly flared then fizzled.

      A fortnight into the winter holidays, Charlotte had grown accustomed to expecting the unexpected when she dared open Poppy’s bedroom door. For the first few days she’d written off her kaleidoscoping moods as exhaustion, hormones, and the fact it was to be the first family Christmas without their father. Though Oli and Xanthe’s baby wasn’t due until mid-January, Oli had made it very clear his calendar was blocked out. Xanthe had put him on call for emergencies. Emergencies, Charlotte presumed, like proposing to his girlfriend before his divorce had gone through. Not that there’d been an announcement. A trip to Paris and a surprisingly large diamond had made an unexpected appearance on #CheekyLawGirl’s Instagram account a couple of weeks back. Izzy had since banned her from the site.

      Now that they’d stumbled through Christmas Day (thank you Izzy and Luna for making Wii fun again!), Charlotte was acutely aware that there was definitely more to Poppy’s moods than her parents’ looming divorce. Unlike Jack, who was constantly out with friends or making plans with friends or gaming over his headsets with friends, Poppy seemed to be increasingly isolated. If she wasn’t reading, practising her flute, or thumbing through heaven-knew-what on her phone, she was rewatching Gilmore Girls with a near feverish dedication. She’d never once suggested inviting a friend over or going out.

      Whenever Charlotte braved suggesting they watch television together or, heaven forbid, talk, there was either a total shutdown or a whirl and strop – Poppy’s new signature move. It had swept into their lives after this summer’s disastrous divorce announcement and showed few signs of departure.

      If it weren’t so heartbreaking – the glare, dramatic whirl of hair and rapid-fire departure – it would be funny. ‘Classic teenager’, Izzy had laughed when she first bore witness to one. Hilarious!

      If only she knew. She had a little girl who still liked holding hands.

      In truth, the only time Poppy seemed truly at peace was when she was playing with Luna. Izzy’s ten year old absolutely adored her. Followed her around the same way Bonzer, the not-so-puppy-sized puppy, loped after Luna. She was always trying to copy her hair, giddily accepting hand-me-downs, absolutely loved being experimented on with Poppy’s increasingly large eyeliner collection. The genuine smiles and occasional laughs that Luna elicited were just one of the many pluses of having Izzy and Luna living in the granny flat above the garage.

      They were just the injection of energy she’d needed to keep the huge family home from feeling like a mausoleum to a failed marriage. Selling the place and moving closer to the children’s boarding school had occurred to her more than once, but Jack hadn’t spoken to her for a week when she’d suggested as much. Poppy had given a world-weary shrug and said, ‘Whatever. It isn’t like we actually have a choice, is it?’

      At this point, there was an element of truth to it. The past few months had been lived in limbo as the lawyers

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