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‘There’s been a change of plan. I’m moving in with Gareth, my friend. Just until . . . until life settles down a bit.’

‘Sounds exciting,’ he says encouragingly.

‘It’s more about being practical. Doing what’s right for . . . for Will. You remember Willow, the little boy you met last time? . . . I’m his carer.’

‘Right,’ he says, slowly nodding. And I find tears prickling my eyes as I try to explain without oversharing.

‘Well, it wasn’t quite how I’d planned things, but . . .’ I nod and try to shake off all my worries, concerns and doubts. ‘It seems the right thing to do for the moment.’

Before Luke can reply, there’s a bang from the kitchen doorway. Will comes running out, having slammed the stable door shut behind him by the looks of it, heading towards the forest. I expect Gareth to appear next, but he doesn’t come out.

Will’s upset, I think. But Tegan, as ever, is right behind him. And at least this time I have a pretty good idea of where he’s going: back to the big tree in the clearing.

The only thing I need to know is why.

Chapter 18

‘Sorry, I’d better . . .’ I say hastily to Luke.

‘Of course,’ he urges. ‘Go. Looks like you’re needed. It was nice chatting.’

‘It was,’ I say, really meaning it, and then hurry back towards the farmhouse. I open the door and step into the kitchen.

‘Gareth?’

‘All done?’ He smiles from the kitchen table, putting down his iPad.

I frown.

‘Why has Will just run off into the forest?’ I point behind me, towards the trees.

‘Oh, has he? No idea. Shall we go out for lunch – the Giddy Goose? My treat. Celebrate the new owners taking this place on?’ He glances around with a wry expression, as if my home is the last raffle prize at the Christmas fair and some unlucky person has been lumbered with it.

My lips tighten and set over my clenched teeth. ‘What did you say to him?’

‘Nothing. I was just talking about getting his hair cut, and . . .’

‘And?’

‘And I said he might want to stop walking round with that empty tin, like a tin soldier. Maybe it was time for it to go in the bin.’

‘What?!’ I throw my hands up. ‘What did you say that for?’

‘I was just thinking about him starting school in the new term—’

‘But that hasn’t been decided yet! I told you. It’s not up to you or me. It’s Will’s choice!’

‘Of course it has. You can’t allow a nine-year-old to make up his own mind.’

I feel a simmering heat inside me that is warming to a bubbling boil.

‘That is exactly what I told him he could do,’ I say, emphasizing each word, feeling the wetness of spit on my bottom lip as I do.

‘But you loved it there, Gwen.’

I shake my head. I really didn’t love the place. And if he can’t see that . . .

‘We saw a little boy hiding in the cloakroom because he was homesick. It was horrid.’ I close my eyes, thinking about the poor lad, already conditioned not to cry.