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An image of Finn on one knee popped into her mind. The nervous look of hope on his face. The way his hand shook as he extended the ring in its box towards her. The hand that had held hers since they met as freshers at university.

Willow cried out, a little squall of weariness, and the memory was gone. Robyn shook herself, glad to forget.

‘The spare room is yours,’ Wren said. ‘It’s already got cots in it so it’s ready made for you and Willow.’

‘Wow, thank you so much. It’s as if the universe really did know I was coming,’ Robyn said.

‘So, what does she have in mind for you next?’ Wren asked.

Robyn bit her lip in anticipation as she thought about the endless possibilities that lay ahead. How nice it was to be back in England, and how wonderful to not know yet what her next adventure would be.

‘Something amazing, I hope,’ she said. ‘For Willow and me.’

Chapter Two

Fox

Fox had a sinking feeling even before he was fully awake. That feeling when your internal body clock tells you you’ve overslept before you even look at the time. He prised open one eye and tried to focus on his watch. Shit, shit, shit. He was right, and today of all days. The boys were going back to school, he was going back to the office and the new nanny was starting work. Shit.

He jumped out of bed and ran along the landing to the boys’ rooms, stubbing his toe painfully on the stair he still wasn’t used to since moving in a month ago. It would take time, he knew, to grow accustomed to such a big change. Although the boys seemed to have taken it in their stride that this amazing house was theirs. A more luxurious home than he’d ever had growing up, and more than he’d ever dreamed of being able to provide for his boys. It blew his mind. All because he’d designed a computer game that hit the big time.

Saying it like that made it sound easy. It hadn’t been, that was for sure. It had taken weeks, months, years of his life to design and create the fantasy world that had people hooked. FoxFun Games was now a household name and it was time to get back to work on the next edition.

He woke the boys one at a time, shaking seven-year-old Reggie lightly and then George by unplugging his thumb.

‘Time to go, boys. Today’s the day,’ he said brightly, clapping his hands and trying to muster their enthusiasm. ‘Downstairs for breakfast in five minutes!’

He skidded into the walk-in white-tiled shower room, sluiced himself all over with cold water, and towelled off. Running his hand through his silver quiff, he threw on his jeans and hotfooted it barefoot down the stairs, catching up with a bouncing Reggie and a sleepy George, both in their underpants.

‘Cereal or toast?’ he asked, glancing at the kitchen clock. The new nanny should be here in exactly five minutes – which would mean he had time to sort himself out properly for work.

‘Cereal,’ Reggie said.

‘Toast,’ George said.

‘Naturally,’ Fox said, wracking his panicked brain as to which cupboard he’d put the cereal in.

Since signing his multi-million-pound contract in the spring, and buying Honeybridge House, there had been some big changes for him and the boys. He’d been lucky that the house had come on the market just as his money hit his bank. He’d not hesitated in making an offer, knowing immediately it was the house his children would grow up in. It was a big house, yes, but friendly-looking, with ceilings high enough for the boys to throw paper planes and wooden floors polished enough for them to slide around in their socks. George loved the fact that his bedroom was linked to Reggie’s by a bathroom. Reggie adored his new desk. The garden was Fox’s own personal dream, a wide lawn hosting a heated swimming pool. The pool house next to it offered separate accommodation for guests, which was absolutely perfect for the new live-in nanny due to arrive any minute. But right now, he was missing the old house that he’d lived in with Meg, where he knew where everything was, because for the life of him he couldn’t find the cereal.

He’d brought all of the old familiar furniture with them to make the transition as easy as possible for the boys. And for him, if he was being honest. The most precious item being the corkboard of photobooth pictures that now took pride of place on the new kitchen wall. Row upon row of picture strips, documenting the changes in the boys over the past few years. He paused his search in front of it now, ran his finger along the frame, stopping where it always did – at the one shot of him and Meg. ‘This would never be happening if you were here,’ he whispered, before smacking himself on the forehead and opening the cupboard beneath her photo. Cereal. ‘Thanks.’ He kissed his fingertip and pressed it to her face.

Meg had been the main reason he’d stayed in the old house for so long. It was the home they’d bought and decorated together, where they’d perfected signature recipes for dinner parties, bickered over the washing-up, fallen asleep on the sofa on a Sunday afternoon. A million tiny seconds of domestic life were within those walls. A thousand separate moments. Some loomed bigger in his memory than others. The morning she climbed back into bed beside him, and whispered that she was pregnant. The day they brought Reggie home from the hospital and, a couple of years later, George. The addition of stair gates, buggies in the hall, a baby monitor. And then the knock on the door out of the blue on a Sunday morning when Meg had been at the shop. Opening it to a policeman with a grey moustache who asked him to sit down and explained, as Reggie played with a red tractor on the floor and newborn George drank his bottle in Fox’s arms, that Meg had suffered a catastrophic brain aneurysm and died whilst on the way to buy a pint of milk.

He glanced at the picture again. Meg smiled back, and his chest ached.

‘I’m hungry!’ George said and Fox snapped back into action, just as he had for the past four years, pouring dog biscuits into Reggie’s bowl and Coco Pops into Dingbat’s dog bowl – much to the boys’ hilarity. There was always something else to do, and when it got too much for just him, he had his Brothers from Another Mother to fall back on. Etienne, who ran The Bistro, and Walker, a local firefighter. Without them and their help, he doubted he’d have got through. Not to mention Isabella, Etienne’s partner, or his close friends, Wren and Rosie. People always said it took a village to raise a child and in this case, it was most certainly true. It had been Honeybridge to the rescue as far as he was concerned.

And now it was going to be Fiona Mitchell, the new nanny, to the rescue. His design and development schedule was brutal for the next three months. But she had all the experience he needed for running the house, organising the school admin, looking after the boys and preparing their meals every day before retiring to the pool house and leaving him to enjoy the boys in the evening. For once, he would be able to focus solely on the job.

Too late, Fox saw the smoke coming out of the toaster where the bread was stuck and the fire alarm sent out a piercing shriek which made them all jump.

‘Fire!’ yelled George, wide-eyed, stepping backwards and knocking the dog’s water bowl over.

‘Evacuate! Evacuate!’ Reggie shouted, dragging the barking dog towards the back door.

Fox was frantically shaking a tea towel at the ceiling when his phone rang. He flapped the cloth a couple more times until the siren stopped and glanced at the screen. He didn’t recognise the number so motioned for the boys to be quiet before answering in his professional work voice. Both boys tried to smother their giggles and he waved a hand at them and turned his back. This time, they went quiet.

‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘It’s Fiona Mitchell.’ He recognised the slightly clipped tones, but also picked up on something else in the voice. Nerves. A feeling of doom ran through Fox as Fiona cleared her throat. This was not going to be a good call.