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over on chubby three-year-old legs, intent on finding the two most beautiful shells ever. Kate and Michael waited, smiling at each other.
    “She’s a perfectionist like you,” Michael said as they stood watching Lottie.
    “Well, there’s nothing wrong in that. And anyway, who’s the competitive one here? Haven’t you noticed this is the biggest and best castle on the entire beach? And I don’t think I’ve ever seen one with a walled garden before.”
    He pulled a nerdy face, then grinned. They waited as Charlotte crouched low, about 20 metres away, scouring the tide line.
    “Come on, Lottie, it’ll only take a tick. You can find more shells after.” Kate stood poised with the camera, concerned that Emily would be off the blanket and crawling into the sand at any moment.
    Charlotte skipped back and tucked herself behind the castle, next to her Dad. “Ta-dah!” they pointed at their masterpiece as the shutter clicked. Capturing the moment forever, before the tides came in, washing it all away. The shifting of sands, of time.
    “Fantastic,” Kate grinned at them.
    Michael came across, taking the camera from her. “Here, we can have one of all of us. I brought the tripod stand along. It does automatic.” The camera was a new toy. He was desperate to try all its settings. “Come on then, ladies, back to the blanket.” He found the tripod folded down in the bottom of the bag that Kate had carried – no wonder it had been so damned heavy – and set it up opposite their picnic area. Kate sat with Emily on her knee, Charlotte beside them. Michael played about with the settings then scrambled back, getting sand all over them as he dived down, shouting “Smile!” just as the camera clicked, managing to grasp an arm around them all at the last second.
    Two years ago.
    A family together.
    A photo on a desk.
    A freeze frame of happiness.
    The coffee had cooled in her cup, leaving a broken skin of floating milk. She didn’t know how long ago she’d made it. She sipped it. Yuck! It was horrid – not even lukewarm.
    She found herself coiled on the sofa in the lounge, where she’d been since putting the shopping away. The photo frame held tight against her. She’d nipped upstairs with the toiletries, seen the picture in his office, taken it down with her. She’d been sitting staring at the image, looked out of the window at the back garden, which had started to fuzz as she’d drifted into her thoughts… mixing memories with her fears, and getting lost within herself for a while.
    Back to the present, looking out at the spring show; tulips and daffodils were massed in the borders. She’d spent ages planting those bulbs the autumn after Charlotte had been born, filled with a sudden energy to make a spring garden for her baby to see in her early months; a garden full of colours, bright and happy. And here it was bold and beautiful, Charlotte was five and a half years old and her Daddy was about to leave this house, this garden, them.
    Well,
maybe
. He hadn’t called yet.
    Kate clung to a thin strand of hope; maybe he was just thinking everything through. He’d ring soon saying he’d made an awful mistake. It was Kate he loved. Kate he wanted. He’d never do anything to hurt her again… But he was there, no doubt in the office with
her
, and he hadn’t called.
    She should get up. Go into the garden. Do something. Dig the borders. Find those pesky weeds and root them out, get her hands clotted with musky earth. But she felt tired, so very tired. She glanced at her wristwatch, only three quarters of an hour now until she’d have to set off and collect Emily from nursery. She could clean the bathroom. Do something useful, for heaven’s sake. But still she sat, with a strange feeling inside; not exactly a numbness, it hurt too much for that.
    Then she was crying. Big snotty sobs, like the children did when they cried. Damn, not again, and she hadn’t even got a bloody tissue handy. She struggled to breathe,