He hadn’t finished.
‘When I think how it was when our own kids were small. How we shielded them, how we’d have died –’ his voice broke.
She saw that he couldn’t go on, that Josephine and her memory, with their own failure to keep her safe, had come between them.
‘Darling Rud, let’s just walk to the end of this street, then we can turn back to the car and you can shake the dust of this place from your heels for ever.’
* * *
The first that Moona knew of Trix’s return to grace was a pressing invitation from her brother, Jack, to inspect the new Edinburgh house he’d bought. ‘Just a step away from Eglinton Crescent, you’ll not have to come far.’ Ten years his senior, at 76, Moona resented the suggestion that a ten minute walk would be too much for her.
‘You’ve done well, Jack,’ she told h
