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THIRTY

He looks relaxed when he walks in an hour later.

He tells her he has had a good and successful day.

Martha smiles and says that she is glad.

She hands him the baby and he takes Nala from her arms with a smile of unfiltered joy.

Martha checks in with herself briefly, questioning her feelings in this moment.

She had given herself an ultimatum after Al’s disappearing act last week when Nala had been so sick.

She’d made an agreement with herself when she planted the tracker in Al’s car that the moment she saw any real-time deviation from the narrative Al gave her to explain his absences, she was going to walk away.

Or rather, she was going to make him walk away.

She doesn’t care if he’s been having an affair, she doesn’t care if he’s been trainspotting, she doesn’t care if he’s been sitting in a dark room staring at a wall, she doesn’t care what he’s been doing when he’s away from home as long as it’s what he told her he was doing.

And today, at least, he has proved that much to her.

Today she can breathe out, relax, open wine, thank her lucky stars for a man like Alistair.

“Oh,” Al says, sitting Nala on her playmat inside a horseshoe-shaped cushion. “By the way. I have big news.”

“Oh yes?”

“I think I’ve found a new venture for us. Well, for you, but for both of us.”

“A new…?”

“A new Martha’s Garden spot. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.

I know having the baby has held you back a little lately and I know you had all these amazing plans for the business when we first met, and I know our finances have got a bit sticky and things have been…

well, things have been rough. I’ve been absent.

I’ve been shit, let’s face it. And last week was a wake-up call for me.

To have left you here like that, with Nala so ill, it just makes me die inside even thinking about it.

” He sighs, heavily, and then sits down on the sofa and passes toys to Nala as he speaks.

“So, I’ve decided. That’s it. I’m quitting my job.

I can’t do it anymore. I can’t treat you like this anymore.

You deserve more. We both deserve more. And frankly, your business deserves more. ”

Martha had told him about all the canceled orders, all the irate customers, the long-standing account with a wedding planner that had been terminated overnight, the one-star review on Trustpilot. He’d hung his head and said he hated himself.

“We need to focus on Martha’s Garden again, and I have found the most fantastic site—coastal, an old beach café near Folkestone.

It’s been empty for twelve years. But the local council is about to invest a small fortune in the resort to try and bring it up to scratch.

They’ve approved plans for a small estate of New England–style luxe housing, and an upmarket shopping area.

And imagine, Martha”—he turns on his phone and shows her his camera roll—“imagine this, painted in California Rose. Imagine a flower shop here, and a café right here. A shopping area selling gifts and branded goods. And these little beach huts—we could convert those into rooms, plumb them in, put in mezzanine beds: ‘Martha’s Bedrooms.’?” He makes the shape of a sign with his hands.

“Just imagine that. A boardwalk with integrated lighting joining it all together. Can you see it?” he says, slightly breathlessly. “Wouldn’t it be incredible?”

Martha blinks slowly and nods in rhythm.

Yes, she thinks to herself, my goodness, yes.

It could be stunning. A café! she thinks.

She has always fantasized about a café. Pistachio and rosewater muffins on vintage plates.

Tea from pink pots. Wildflowers in old jars.

They could plant pampas grass and sea thrift along the boardwalk.

She would be able to expand her branded stock.

And finally, she thinks, get herself some proper staff, not just teenage girls.

She could kick back a little, work from an office, not be up at five o’clock every morning.

Her heart races with excitement and she flicks back and forth through the photos on Al’s phone, neatly filed away in a folder called “Martha’s Garden on the Beach,” which she finds sweetly touching.

“Wow,” she says eventually, handing Al his phone back. “I mean, yes. Obviously, yes, I can see it, it could be stunning. Literally amazing. But, Al, we don’t have any money.”

“Well, that is not entirely true. I might have found a way to come up with finances. Well, half the finances. And the council will subsidize some of the renovation expenses. You just need to find a hundred grand. A hundred and fifty tops. That’s all.

And you could borrow that easily against the house. ”

Martha feels a lurch at the pit of her stomach.

Al’s talked to her before about borrowing against the house, and she’s always refused.

She already borrowed against it eight years ago to finance Martha’s Garden and has been trying to get her mortgage back to zero ever since.

The thought of going back to square one and beyond terrifies her.

“God, Al, I don’t know. It’s all a bit scary.”

“Yes!” His eyes are laser bright. “It’s terrifying!

I know! But, Martha, we need this. I need to get away from my bloody job, and you need more than this”—he gestures around the room, but is suggesting her current life—“to get your teeth into. This is the moment, Martha. You’re nearly fifty.

I’m going to be fifty-six any minute. We’ve got another twenty good years.

Let’s make them count. For God’s sake, let’s make them count. ”

Martha smiles; her stomach feels soft.

Suddenly the dream that has recently felt so bruised and tarnished feels bright and new again. She nods. “OK!” she says. “Yes! I’m in.”