The sun was just dipping behind the tree line when we reached the car park. The boys, who must have covered about three times more miles than Mark and I, got into the backseat and dozed on the journey back to the cottage.
Mark and I spoke quietly to each other in the front.
“It’s a pity we couldn’t go off somewhere with Tom and Cliff this Easter,” I said.
Mark indicated and turned right. “I wonder how they’re getting on with Tom’s sister.”
“I’ll give them a ring when we get back on Tuesday.”
“Yeah, I think they might need a sympathetic ear by then.”
We fell silent for a while. “Of course this whole area has quite a strong significance for anyone in my line of work,” I said.
“Catherine Cookson?”
I nodded. “She’s the most borrowed author in the country. Sally tells me there’s alwa
