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Nodding mutely, Fiona wrapped her arms around her son and breathed him in for one last time. He hadn’t even left, yet the house already felt emptier, as if part of its soul inhabited his belongings and now he was taking it with him.

‘You’re going to have so much fun,’ she said. ‘Just stay safe and work hard.’

‘I know.’

‘And it’s going to be quiet around here,’ she added.

‘It is,’ Stephen agreed, standing back and observing his son and wife. ‘It’s going to be very quiet indeed.’

* * *

The office was a comfortable six Tube stops away, with no line changes involved. It was a little farther out of central London than she would have liked, but what she’d lost in location, she’d more than made up for in space. And, despite being only a two-woman operation, space was paramount. Space and style.

It had taken more than a few tries to get the ambiance just right – and of course it all needed updating every couple of years to ensure it didn’t start to look tired – but right now, Omnivents, Fiona’s high-end, events-planning company, was at the top of its game. A large, silver name plaque greeted clients at the entrance and, inside, a small table offered goodies, ranging from retro sweets to French macarons, depending on who they were expecting that day. When not on offer, said sweets and treats were stored in the stock room, along with hundreds of empty presentation packs, over a thousand lanyards waiting to be filled, two portable mini projectors with built-in screens, and a whole host of other events paraphernalia. Hence the need for space.

On a second, small table, wooden diffusers heated essential oils, spilling citrus and lavender scents into the air, obscuring the unwanted smells that filtered through from the Lebanese restaurant downstairs. This juxtaposition was a double-edged sword; smelling shawarma chicken floating up from the kebab rotisseries at 8a.m. each morning wasn’t exactly pleasant, but having a falafel wrap with a side of hummus and pita delivered in less than five minutes could be a godsend when she didn’t have time to leave the office for an actual lunch break.

In the twelve years since its inception, Omnivents had built up a client list that made her smile with pride every time she thought of it. Of course, she was small fry compared to the business Stephen worked for, but then most businesses were. (Alton Foods was run by the renowned entrepreneur John Orbiten and had been securely positioned in the top-five food producers in the UK for most of the eleven years Stephen had been there.) But, unlike her husband, who was at the beck and call of his boss twenty-four hours a day, Fiona answered to no one but herself. Omnivents was entirely her own.

During those years, it had gone through more than one reinvention. Back when she’d first started, she had taken any jobs she could get her hands on: sweet sixteen parties, book launches, not to mention weddings. God, she’d had fun with those weddings. But, somewhere along the road, despite the high-society christenings and elaborate twenty-firsts, she’d carved out a particular name for herself as the go-to person for bespoke, high-end corporate events. Now, some of the biggest names in marketing and business used her when it came to launches, Christmas parties, charity galas, and, most of all, seminars. Companies, she had discovered, liked nothing more than holding seminars.

‘Soon you’ll be earning more money than me,’ Stephen had joked a couple of years back. He’d only said it in passing but, to her, it had become a target to aim at, particularly after one of his own company events led to her scoring three new clients.

Event planning as a whole, even being CEO of a company like hers, wasn’t nearly as glamorous as people thought it was, though. It involved a lot of emails. And telephone calls. Not to mention the hours spent laminating itineraries and schedules. Fortunately, when it came to exciting jobs like loading up name tags and filling good-old corporate goodie bags, she had Annabel.

‘Morning, Annabel.’ Fiona placed a takeaway white-chocolate-strawberry-and-cream Frappuccino on her assistant’s desk before reaching into her tote and pulling out a plastic bag. ‘And, I know it’s not your birthday for another month, but I saw this and couldn’t resist it.’

‘For me?’

‘I hope it’s okay.’

‘You didn’t have to do that!’ Annabel bounced up and down in her seat as she spoke, causing her glasses to jump on the bridge of her nose. Mid-twenties and with more energy than a newborn lamb on a sugar high, the bouncing habit had almost cost her the job at her interview five years ago. Every question she’d answered had resulted in her bobbing further and further out of her seat. It wasn’t that Fiona hadn’t admired her enthusiasm, but to look at it every day? She was exhausted after the thirty-minute meeting. Even so, she’d decided to employ her on a trial basis. Three weeks later, she changed the contract to permanent and had never looked back.

Annabel pulled the T-shirt out of the bag and held it up against her chest, measuring it up for size. ‘Oh, my goodness. I love it!’

‘I didn’t know which house to get you, so I got the one with all of them on instead.’

‘It’s perfect.’ She ran her hand along the fabric. ‘Personally, I always thought I was a Ravenclaw, but Pottermore says I’m Hufflepuff. Honestly, I’m not even sure how that’s possible, given I was in the bottom set for—’ She drew to a stop, closing her mouth in an embarrassed smile. ‘Thank you.’ She folded the T-shirt away and picked up her drink. ‘How’s Joseph? Did everything fit in the car? Did he get off okay?’

‘I hope so. They haven’t rung to say otherwise,’ she replied. ‘I guess I’ll hear from him when he gets there.’

‘He must be so excited.’

‘I think he’s been looking forward to this for the last two years.’

‘Oh, he’s going to have such fun.’

Thoughts of a son, out on his own in an unfamiliar city, far from home, would probably have made most mothers sick with anxiety. But Joseph wasn’t like most boys. He had a good head on his shoulders.

‘Is everything sorted for next week? No last-minute issues?’ She brought herself back to the present.

‘Nope.’ Annabel sucked a mouthful of pink liquid through the straw. ‘You are completely clear, but it means that it’s going to be a bit of a crazy one when you get back.’

‘Crazy’s good. Crazy means we’re making money. Which means a nice bonus to help you get that house deposit.’

‘That would be brilliant. It seems every time we manage to save a bit more, the house prices soar and we still can’t afford anything.’

‘I remember that,’ Fiona recalled, her fingertips resting on the handle of her office door. ‘Stephen and I lived on beans and pasta for years. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like. I’m not sorry those days are gone.’