Harry had turned out to be a whizz at cooking. Which made up for his complete lack of ability at DIY. “It's all right,” Jazz had said. “We can get a man in.” But it meant that Sunday brunches were a gas.
“Do you need any help in the kitchen?” called Mark from the patio. Mark probably wouldn't have asked anyone else, but seeing as it was Harry Noble, he didn't mind. Kitchens were strictly out of bounds for him, usually. Luckily Maddie loved to cook. Anyway, Jack and Harry were enjoying themselves too much in there together to need any help.
“No thanks, just help yourself to wine,” shouted Harry back.
Maddie, George, Jazz, Mark, Carrie and Matt did as they were told, and enjoyed the last of the summer sun as it nudged behind the growing conifers.
It was perfect. It might have been even more perfect if Mo had been there, thought Jazz, but there was no way she was inviting Gilbert Valentine into their home. She saw less of Mo these days, especially now little Tarquin Valentine was on the scene, but she had finally realised that there had to be a price for happiness, and the loss of Mo was her price. And such a realisation had helped to make that loss more bearable.
Epilogue
The television was on.
“Ooh, look - it's whatsisname”
“Kevin Atkinson”
“he's brilliant. Have you ever worked with him?”
“yup. He's a bit dull actually.”
“really?”
“yeah. And he's got four children by four different women.”
“you're kidding.”
“and those are contact lenses.”
“bloody Nora. Who'd have guessed it? Kevin Blinking Atkinson.”
“Kevin Blinking Atkinson.”
“You know everyone, don't you?”
He smiled and kissed the head of the only person he thought worth knowing.
“uhhuh”
Acknowledgements
Thank you, Mum and Dad, my meticulous copy-editors through life, for your constant, enthusiastic and totally biased support.
Thank you, Andrew, for being away on business so much that I had time to write a novel. And thank you for coming back, reading my work again and again, laughing at the right bits and making constructive criticism so sweetly that I didn't want to shoot you.
Thank you, Frances Quinn, for your practical and emotional support. It proved invaluable.
On a more general note, thank you, Claude Lum, for being a rock in my life through the hard times.
Without these people this book would not have been written. So if you don't like it, go to them.