The Butterfly Cove Collection. Sarah Bennett

hangover and short temper. When she’d shown him into the carefully staged room and spoken earnestly about learning about composition in GCSE art classes, something snapped inside him.

      Storming out on a stream of curses, he’d gone straight to his favourite pub to try and drown his sorrows. The row with Giselle over failing to escort her to some stupid party had been the final straw.

      Guilt sent an uneasy roil through his stomach. Somewhere along the way, he’d turned into the kind of self-absorbed wanker he’d first sneered at when arriving in London. Don’t think about it. He wasn’t ready to face a serious bout of introspection; he needed to use the week ahead to put some space between himself and the mess of his life that he had so abruptly fled from that morning. Hard physical work would be just what he needed. A couple of days to breathe, to sort out his head and get back on track.

      Needing distraction, his eyes skipped to the long list of chores Mia had pinned on her wall. If nothing else, he would help her cross at least a few of them off. It would be good to do something productive and make his muscles ache from labour rather than his head aching from too much booze and the other rubbish he’d been shoving into his body over the past few months.

      The phone, lying forgotten on the table in front of him, began to ring startling Daniel. He looked at it with trepidation, wondering who was intruding on the little cave of solace he had found in the kitchen. Mia scooped up the handset and shimmied back towards the radio, turning the volume down a little as she answered the phone.

      ‘Oh hey, Richard.’ The warmth in her tone drew Daniel’s attention and he met Mia’s eyes as she pulled a little face and shook her head as she listened to whatever Madeline’s husband had to say.

      ‘Yes, I know, I know…you don’t have to tell me she acted inappropriately, Richard. I didn’t call her up and ask her to dump a random stranger on my doorstep.’ Daniel flinched at that comment and Mia raised a hand in half-apology at him as she continued to hmm, and uh-huh and all those other noises that women universally made when they were on the phone.

      ‘She had a feeling about what, exactly?’ Sharpness entered Mia’s tone and Daniel squirmed, feeling even more the awkward intruder. He moved away from the table towards the stove, trying to put some distance between them and give her some semblance of privacy.

      He glanced over to Mia and pointed at the pot and the stove and mimed stirring it and she flashed him a thumb’s up. Lifting the lid, he closed his eyes in appreciation, swaying just a little as the aroma of the soup filled his nostrils. His stomach growled as he gave the pot a stir and he tried hard to give it his whole focus and close his ears to the hushed tones coming across the room. It was useless.

      ‘I don’t need rescuing, Richard. I’m doing just fine… Oh okay, okay, yes you can call bullshit on that, but I don’t think I’m ready for company yet… No, no, you guys don’t need to come over… I’ve told him a week, just a week and he’s going to help out around the place.’

      Mia crossed the room, phone still under her chin, and tapped Daniel on the arm. She pointed to the bread and then the knife rack before circling back around the table towards the phone holder on the wall.

      ‘You know I can always use your help around here, Richard. Yes, and Madeline too, although she and I will be having words tomorrow… Uh-huh. Nine should be fine. I’ll make bacon sandwiches to get us going… Yep, yep. Bye.’

      Daniel placed a mountain of freshly sliced bread on the table, quickly followed by two steaming bowls, and was rewarded with a smile of gratitude from Mia. The phone call had upset the equilibrium achieved during their mutual preparation of the meal, the outside world inserting itself into the warm cocoon of the kitchen. He felt like he should apologise again for intruding, but the selfish part of him didn’t want to give her an opportunity to ask him to leave.

      The station on the radio switched to a mellower selection and he let the music and the warmth of the soup bring him down from the turmoil of the past couple of hours. Dipping his spoon into the hot liquid, he took a taste. It was perfect and he let go of everything as he let the soup nourish him body and soul.

      His spoon soon scraped the bottom of the bowl and he grabbed another piece of bread to mop up every drop he could before leaning back in his chair, sliding down a little to stretch his long legs out. The warmth in his stomach spread through him, chasing away some of the hollowness and the remains of the shock following his earlier breakdown.

      The previous jitters lurked still, threatening to rise if he let his thoughts stray to anything beyond the room around him. Especially if he thought too hard about the mess he’d left behind in London. He shoved them all into a corner and squashed them down, fixing his mind on the harmless task of counting things. There were twelve slate tiles to each row across the kitchen floor, fifteen rows in total. Eight cupboards, fourteen flowers on each curtain. Gradually the fluttery edges of panic smoothed away.

      He’d have to deal with everything, but not just yet. A week, she’d said. Everything could be put on hold for a week. Forget Fitz, get back to being plain old Daniel Fitzwilliams. He’d wipe the slate and start fresh for this one week and try and figure out exactly who that was, or more importantly who he wanted Daniel Fitzwilliams to be.

      ***

      Mia woke with a start and stared at her old friend, Mr Damp on the bedroom ceiling, trying to work out what had disturbed her. The second slam of a car door sent her straight out of bed and over to the grubby windowpane as she peered down to the driveway below.

      She watched in disbelief as Daniel ambled out of the back door towards Madeline and Richard. They were all dressed practically in jeans, T-shirts and old jumpers. Mia glanced over at the clock on her bedside cabinet and squinted in disbelief at the position of the hands. Five past nine? What the hell? She never slept that late.

      ‘Damn, damn damn!’ Mia rummaged through her drawers, throwing old jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt onto the bed before dashing into the bathroom, underwear in hand. She blinked and scowled at her reflection; the bloody Mohawk mice had been to visit in the night again and she had a big crease down one side of her face from the pillow. A quick wash, teeth scrubbed, hair vaguely wetted down and she rushed down the stairs, socks in hand and still buttoning her jeans.

      She pulled up short at the closed, locked door at the bottom of the stairs before she remembered that Daniel had insisted that she shut herself in the night before.

      ‘Not that I’m a raving maniac or anything, regardless of my behaviour today,’ he’d said with a self-deprecating grin. ‘But I am a stranger in your home and you are not used to someone else being here, you said. If you lock the door, you might rest easier.’

      It had been a gracious thing to do, putting her at ease, and it had clearly worked given how well she had slept. For the first time in weeks there had been no nightmares. No waking up to the echo of her footsteps tapping on the cold tiles on that endless walk through the hospital corridor towards the room where Jamie waited for her, cold and lifeless. Pushing away the macabre images before they could take hold, she unlocked the door and let the sound of the living draw her away from the dead.

      Mia entered the kitchen, pausing on the threshold to absorb the scene before her. Madeline stood at the Aga frying bacon, brandishing a spatula at Richard who was buttering bread and laughing at some rude comment he had made to her. Daniel leant against the back door, a cup of coffee in his hand, watching the couple with a wistful smile on his face. He looked less grey and haunted than the day before; perhaps they’d both managed a decent night’s sleep. He stirred and the smile warmed as he sensed Mia’s presence.

      ‘Umm, Richard and Madeline are here,’ he said and gave her a helpless shrug.

      ‘So, I see,’ Mia said dryly as she stepped further into the kitchen and moved towards Richard’s open arms. She rested her head on his chest and let him enfold her in his fatherly embrace. Both he and his wife had waged a gentle, but insistent war against Mia’s self-imposed isolation. She’d resented their endless cheer at first, but now she wondered how she would have survived the past few months without them.

      ‘Hello,