you might not feel the same need to move from here—’
‘No one will want this place after I’m gone,’ Margaret said, setting the cup down in front of her and reaching for the sugar bowl. ‘This is a family home. I should have sold it a long time ago.’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘Let someone else worry about the garden, for one thing. And your dad is quite right in saying I need to take steps now to avoid paying inheritance tax.’
‘You wouldn’t be paying it! Dad would. It would come out of your estate.’
‘But I don’t want my money going to the government.’ Margaret set her spoon down in the saucer and turned her attention to him. ‘Daniel, what have you done with Mia? There was no need for you to rush here this evening. I hope you didn’t feel you couldn’t cancel?’
Actually, it hadn’t occurred to him. His sole thought had been to apologise to Freya.
‘She’s in the car.’ He brushed a hand across his face, reluctant to confess even that much. He’d got a fifteen-year-old daughter he didn’t trust to leave at home even for half an hour. What did that say about him?
His life was a mess. Other parents seemed to be turning out well-balanced young people, whereas he was heading towards a fully-fledged delinquent. What did Freya make of that?
Of him? For reasons he couldn’t fathom he was suddenly interested in that. There was something particularly astute about the expression in her eyes when she looked at him. It made him feel she was weighing everything he said. Making a judgement. Probably finding him wanting.
‘Oh, Daniel, bring her in. It’s too cold for her to be sitting out there, even if she’s got her…whatever that thing is they all seem to be plugged into.’
Opposite, Freya smiled, her blue eyes holding a sudden sparkle. ‘I suspect you mean an MP3 player.’
‘Something like that,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Freya, be a darling and go and get her a glass of diet cola. She must be so fed up, sitting out there.’
‘She’s—’
‘She’s going to be frozen, Daniel. Just bring her in.’
Freya smiled and pushed her chair away from the table. She’d heard that tone in her grandmother’s voice many times before, and it really did brook no argument. Even her dad had done as he was told when faced with that voice.
It was a shame she hadn’t used it more often. If she’d been able to stay longer than that one summer holiday perhaps she’d have made different choices. Passed some exams.
For the umpteenth time that day she wondered what was motivating Mia. Her relationship with her dad was clearly fractured, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was all his fault.
‘A nice man doing his best.’ That was what her grandmother had said when she’d recounted the incident earlier.
And she honestly hadn’t expected him to apologise. At least not in any sincere way. That changed things. Maybe she really had stumbled on a man with integrity?
She found a two-litre bottle of diet cola on the floor of the larder and poured some into a tall glass, carrying it back to the dining room. ‘I found it.’
‘Good. We can’t leave Mia sitting out there. She’ll be texting someone she shouldn’t.’
‘A little like me, then,’ Freya said, setting it down on the tray.
‘Except there wasn’t texting when you were her age. You made your trouble in other ways.’
She’d certainly done that. But she’d had her reasons. When a person deliberately set out to push the self-destruct button there usually were reasons for it. So what were Mia’s?
Freya turned her head as she heard father and daughter returning, taking in his bleak expression and her sulky one.
‘Come and have a drink,’ Margaret said as soon as they appeared.
Dry, Mia really was a very attractive girl. Her hair, which had looked a dirty honey shade earlier, was a dramatic strawberry blonde colour. She’d have been quite stunning if she’d smiled.
In case they didn’t already know she was here under sufferance, Mia scarcely acknowledged that Margaret had spoken to her. Daniel ripped an exasperated hand through his hair and frowned at his daughter.
From this side of the fence it was almost comical to watch. Almost. It would never be quite that, because Freya knew what it felt like to carry a hard knot of anger inside. To feel lonely and frightened and so angry you didn’t know what to do with yourself.
‘Have you finished your tea?’ Margaret asked.
Freya looked down at her empty cup. ‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps you’d take Daniel to look at the chiffonier and the table? I’ll sit here and keep Mia company.’
‘They’re in the morning room,’ Freya said, standing up.
Daniel quickly drained the last of his tea and set the cup back in the saucer. He glanced at his daughter. ‘I won’t be long.’
Mia hunched a shoulder and picked up her cola. This time Freya couldn’t stop the tiny smile, then turned to look at Daniel and caught the quick flash of anger in his eyes. If Mia was looking to provoke a reaction from her father she’d succeeded.
A second glance at his daughter confirmed that she was completely aware of that. Whether or not Daniel was the root cause of Mia’s anger, he was certainly the focus of it. ‘If you want any more cola, I’ve left the bottle on the side in the kitchen.’
‘Thank you.’ Daniel spoke for her.
Freya turned her head and smiled. ‘I assume you know where you’re going?’
He nodded, and walked in the direction she’d pointed. Freya glanced back. With her dad out of the room Mia’s whole belligerent air had vanished. She just looked sad. And quite a bit younger.
Margaret smiled at Freya across the top Mia’s head. A look of complete understanding passed between them.
‘Would you mind pouring me a second cup of tea, Mia?’ Margaret asked. ‘This hip of mine makes it difficult to get out of the chair.’
Freya followed Daniel out into the Minton-tiled hallway, with its stunning mahogany staircase sweeping upwards. She glanced across at him, wondering what had happened in their relationship to make it so strained. It might be arrogant, but she somehow felt that if she just had half an hour with Mia she might be able to help.
But it was none of her business. And Daniel was at least working on it. He lifted his hand to rub his temple, and Freya caught sight of his wedding ring.
Where was Mia’s mother in all this? Her grandma hadn’t mentioned her and she hadn’t liked to ask. Just ‘a nice man doing his best’. That was all she’d said.
‘Margaret’s really good with her,’
