The House of Birds and Butterflies. Cressida McLaughlin

She’d rolled the sleeves up, and the fabric had started to tear at the hem where she’d walked Raffle for hours, catching it on endless twigs and bramble bushes. She pushed her hair away from her face, and Tessa reached out and pulled a strand forward again, appraising her silently in the way she often did.

      ‘They’re fine,’ Abby said. ‘It’s mainly been walks and school activities so far, trying to widen the reach of the reserve. We’ve sent emails out to all the schools in Suffolk, as well as some just over the border, and we’ve got the county and borough councils to link through to our website on their days-out pages. Take-up’s been good, and the feedback so far has been positive. Next weekend, though, that’s the biggie.’

      ‘Halloween,’ Tessa said. ‘Willow’s been talking about it non-stop. I think some of the other parents are really into it, having parties and all sorts. She’ll love that you want her to help with all this.’

      ‘Where are they?’ Abby asked.

      ‘Neil’s taken them to the park, making the most of it while the weather’s still good. They keep asking about your bird book, and when they’re going to get to read it.’

      ‘Oh God,’ Abby said. ‘I should never have mentioned it. It’s ridiculous!’

      ‘No, it isn’t. It’s a lovely idea. Have you done any more?’

      ‘A few notes,’ Abby admitted. ‘We had a boy at the reserve a few weeks ago who described a mistle thrush as having a bread-and-butter pudding tummy, so I’m going to steal that.’

      ‘It’s perfect. See – get young people to help you create it, then they’ll definitely be able to identify with it.’

      ‘Hmm.’

      ‘Come on, then.’ Tessa picked up a packet of pumpkin-shaped confetti and wiggled it. ‘What’s the plan with all this?’

      ‘Bunting for the visitor centre, and I’m running a scary drawing competition. I wondered if Willow and Daisy would like to do some examples for me, so I’ve got something to show the children when they turn up. I think if we keep it light, I won’t end up with pictures full of blood and gore.’

      Tessa laughed. ‘Of course you will – they’re children. No risk assessment will ever prepare you for the imaginations of small people.’

      ‘You think I should stick to a nature theme?’

      ‘I think,’ Tessa said, picking up a fondant fancy and biting into it, closing her eyes in ecstasy, then waiting until she could speak again, ‘you could theme it around kittens and you’d still end up with some unexpected drawings. Go with horror – at least it’ll be entertaining.’

      ‘You’re not helping to calm my nerves.’

      ‘What do you have to be nervous about? You’ve got this, Abby.’

      Abby toyed with the yellow icing on her cake. She debated telling Tessa that she thought Penelope’s financial concerns were bigger than she was letting on, that she was beginning to feel the weight of responsibility on her shoulders, and that she had this irritating, left-field problem she was thinking about more than she should be – because how much of a risk was he, really, with his petty notes and his non-existent car damage?

      ‘There’s just a lot to get done,’ she settled on. ‘But if Willow and Daisy aren’t around, how good are you at drawing bats?’

      That evening, once Willow, Daisy and Raffle had worn each other out running around the garden, and two of them were upstairs asleep, and the other was snoring gently in front of the fireplace, ears twitching, Abby, Tessa and Neil sat in the snug living room, a bottle of wine open on the table. Abby had relented and decided to stay over, as she often did, the thought of going back to her homely but silent terrace unappealing after spending time in her sister’s boisterous household.

      ‘We’ve been watching that Wild Wonders thing on the TV,’ Neil said into an easy silence, earning a slap on the arm from his wife.

      ‘Ssshhh, no we haven’t. Not every episode, anyway.’ Tessa looked mortified, and Abby laughed.

      ‘I’ve watched some of it too – I had to know what we were up against.’

      ‘And what do you think? Does that presenter, what’s-her-name, know anything about nature at all?’

      ‘Flick Hunter,’ Neil supplied.

      ‘The name on the tip of every Englishman’s tongue this autumn,’ Abby said. ‘I don’t know. She seems competent enough, and they’ve got a good range of experts to provide the detail. It’s well put together, and it’s a great advertisement for Suffolk nature reserves.’

      ‘You’re not losing customers because of it?’

      Abby wrinkled her nose. A month ago, she would have said no, absolutely not. But over the last couple of weeks the footfall had dropped off, takings had dipped and Abby hadn’t found a reason for it – unless the popularity of the television show was growing, and customers who ordinarily would have taken a punt, picking either Meadowsweet or Reston Marsh for their day out, now automatically chose the latter because they’d heard of it.

      ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Possibly. The thing is, I don’t have the answers, and Penelope won’t like that. She wants to know why we’ve lost visitors, and what I’m doing about it. The drop-off is too vague, too gradual, and I need to work on reversing it. But we’ve got a night-time wildlife walk, mask-making, apple bobbing and now, with our stunning drawing examples, who wouldn’t want to come and see us? If I can make this Halloween event successful, then the ripples will perhaps be enough to get us back on track.’

      ‘It seems like she’s put a lot of the responsibility on you,’ Tessa said. ‘You’re not the only member of staff.’

      Abby shrugged. ‘I know, but Rosa’s got the shop and Stephan’s in charge of the café. My remit is activities, visitor numbers, memberships. It makes sense that I should be the one driving it, but everyone mucks in and comes up with ideas. I’m not on my own.’

      ‘That’s good,’ Tessa nodded. ‘And all this, for Halloween, is bound to be a sure-fire winner, even without leggy blonde television presenters to lure people in.’

      ‘I’m blonde,’ Abby said. ‘Not so much of the leggy, though.’

      ‘You’re gorgeous.’ Tessa drained her wine and reached for the bottle. ‘How’s lovely Ryan in the pub? What did you describe him as – a fuzzy St Bernard?’

      ‘Subtle, sis.’ Abby rolled her eyes. ‘Ryan’s got a girlfriend, and even if he didn’t, I’m not attracted to him. He’s a friend. They all are.’

      ‘Yes, I know. Gavin’s married, Marek’s not far off being a granddad and even before this girlfriend development, you couldn’t possibly date Ryan because you couldn’t get past his beard to kiss him. There are excuses for everyone, but I refuse to believe there isn’t someone at that reserve, one of the volunteers maybe, or a guy in the village, who hasn’t piqued your interest. You can’t stay single forever.’

      ‘Why not, Tessa? Why can’t I be happy, just Raffle and me? Why do I need someone else to complete me?’

      ‘I’ll open another bottle,’ Neil said quietly, slipping from the room.

      ‘Of course, I’m not saying that.’ Tessa scooted closer, drawing her knees up in front of her. ‘But I also know that ever since you finished with Darren you’ve stayed away from men and dating as if the mere concept could damage your health. Just because Mum and Dad’s relationship was …’ she searched for the word, ‘… volatile, doesn’t mean we’re going to turn into them. Look at me and Neil.’

      ‘I know that,’ Abby said, already weary at treading over well-worn ground. ‘But doesn’t it make sense to stay away from relationships that look like they could go that way? With Darren, I let it go on too long, and before that