Chapter 1
(Adrian’s POV)
The clock in the hallway struck half past six just as Adrian Thorne discovered that his daughter had emptied an entire box of breakfast cereal onto the kitchen floor.
He stood in the doorway, still fastening the cuff of his pale blue shirt, and surveyed the damage. Golden hoops were scattered across the limestone tiles, disappearing beneath the kitchen island and gathering around the legs of the breakfast stools. In the middle of it all sat Lily, wearing her favourite dinosaur pyjamas and examining a particularly large piece of cereal between her fingers.
For a moment, Adrian considered going back upstairs.
“Lily,” he said, keeping his voice as even as possible. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”
His five-year-old daughter looked up at him with the wide blue eyes she had inherited from her mother. Her dark curls were tangled from sleep, and there was a faint crease on her cheek where her pillow had pressed against it.
“I was making breakfast.”
“I can see that.”
“For Mr. Pickles.”
Adrian followed her gaze to the stuffed green dinosaur sitting beside the refrigerator. Mr. Pickles had been part of their household for nearly three years and, judging by his increasingly worn appearance, had endured more adventures than most living creatures.
“Does Mr. Pickles usually eat his breakfast on the floor?”
“He wanted a picnic.”
“Of course he did.” Adrian rubbed a hand over his face, fighting the temptation to laugh. “Well, perhaps next time he could have his picnic in a bowl.”
Lily considered this suggestion with the seriousness of someone evaluating a complicated business proposal.
“He doesn’t like bowls.”
“Then Mr. Pickles and I are going to have a disagreement.”
Her giggle was worth the extra ten minutes it would take to clean the kitchen, although Adrian suspected he might feel differently when he reached the office late for his first meeting.
He fetched the dustpan and brush from the utility cupboard, handed Lily the smaller brush she liked to use, and crouched beside her. Together they began gathering the cereal into uneven piles. Lily contributed enthusiastically for approximately thirty seconds before becoming distracted by the possibility of feeding individual pieces to her dinosaur.
By the time the floor was clean, Adrian’s coffee had gone cold, his phone had vibrated four times, and they were already running behind schedule.
It was, he thought, a fairly ordinary Tuesday.
The house had not always been this difficult to manage. There had been a time when mornings unfolded with something resembling organisation, when two adults divided the small responsibilities of family life without needing to discuss every detail. Sarah had usually been the first to wake, opening the bedroom curtains and announcing that sleeping past seven was an unforgivable waste of daylight. Adrian had complained about her enthusiasm, particularly on weekends, but he had secretly enjoyed listening to her move around the house while he stole another few minutes beneath the duvet.
Now the mornings belonged entirely to him, and no amount of organisation seemed capable of making them predictable.
“Daddy, can I wear my purple dress?”
Adrian glanced at the clock. “The one with the little flowers?”
“No. The sparkly one.”
“The sparkly one is in the wash, sweetheart.”
Lily’s expression changed immediately.
“But I want it.”
“I know. How about your yellow jumper and the blue skirt?”
“No.”
“The green dress?”
“No.”
He looked towards the ceiling, mentally reviewing the meetings waiting for him at the office. “We have to choose something, Lily. You can’t go to nursery in your pyjamas.”
“Why not?”
“Because they aren’t clothes for nursery.”
“They’re clothes.”
Adrian opened his mouth, then closed it again. Technically, she had a point.
He had negotiated contracts worth millions of pounds, managed difficult clients and guided his company through periods of considerable uncertainty. Yet convincing his daughter to put on an ordinary pair of tights regularly proved beyond his abilities.
“Tell you what,” he said, lowering himself onto the stool beside her. “You can choose between the green dress and the yellow jumper. Whichever you prefer.”
Lily looked suspiciously at him, then down at her pyjamas.
“Can Mr. Pickles choose?”
“If Mr. Pickles makes a sensible decision.”
After a brief consultation conducted entirely in whispers, the dinosaur apparently selected the green dress.
Adrian accepted the verdict without argument.
By eight fifteen, Lily was dressed, her curls had been persuaded into two uneven bunches, and her lunchbox was safely inside her backpack. Adrian had managed half a piece of toast while standing at the kitchen counter and had answered three emails with one hand as he searched for his car keys with the other.
He found them beneath a drawing of a purple dinosaur wearing a crown.
“Is that supposed to be me?” he asked, holding up the picture.
Lily shook her head. “That’s the king.”
“Right. Silly question.”
“You’re the one next to him.”
Adrian examined the smaller figure, which appeared to have unusually long arms and no visible neck.
“Very handsome.”
Lily smiled proudly. “I made you a tie.”
He studied the red triangle extending from the figure’s chin. “I thought that was a tongue.”
“Daddy!”
“Sorry. Excellent tie.”
He tucked the drawing into his briefcase, earning himself a pleased smile before they headed outside.
The October morning was cool and damp, with mist hanging above the lawns. Their home stood on the outskirts of a market town in Surrey, surrounded by mature trees and a garden that had once been Sarah’s favourite place to spend a quiet afternoon.
Adrian had bought the property six years earlier, shortly before their wedding. Sarah had fallen in love with its tall windows, spacious kitchen and slightly neglected gardens. He had worried about maintaining such a large house, but she had insisted it would be perfect for the family they hoped to have.
She had been right, at least for a while.
Now several rooms remained unused, including the fully furnished third-floor suite. He had considered moving somewhere smaller, but Lily knew every corner of the house. She had learned to walk along its hallways and spent countless afternoons playing beneath the oak tree.
Adrian was reluctant to take another familiar place away from her.
“Daddy?”
He turned from fastening her car seat. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can we have pancakes tonight? With strawberries?”
“I thought pancakes were for breakfast.”
“They can be for dinner too. Mummy made them.”
The words were spoken casually as Lily adjusted Mr. Pickles on her lap.
Adrian remembered Sarah making pancakes on Friday evenings when neither of them felt like cooking. She would put music on, let Lily help stir the batter and pretend not to notice when he stole strawberries from the chopping board.
“Yes,” he said. “She did, didn’t she?”
The journey to nursery took longer than expected because of roadworks. Lily spent most of it explaining why a triceratops would make an excellent family pet, while Adrian mentally rearranged his schedule.
At the nursery entrance, she held his hand tightly. Her cheerful conversation faded, and she began rubbing Mr. Pickles’ fabric ear between her fingers.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
Lily nodded without moving towards the door.
Her teacher, Mrs. Bennett, appeared with a warm smile. “Good morning, Lily. We’ve got the painting table ready today.”
Lily pressed closer to Adrian’s leg.
He crouched beside her. “Would you like me to walk you inside?”
She nodded again.
Together they hung up her coat and placed Mr. Pickles in the special basket where he waited during nursery hours. When Adrian straightened, Lily caught his sleeve.
“You’re coming back?”
“Of course. I’ll be here when nursery finishes.”
“Not the lady?”
He understood immediately. The temporary nanny had collected Lily twice the previous week, and neither afternoon had gone particularly well.
“No, sweetheart. I’ll collect you today.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Lily studied his face before finally releasing his sleeve. Mrs. Bennett offered her a choice between painting and building blocks, and after some hesitation, she wandered towards the blocks. Adrian waited until she settled beside another little girl before leaving for the office.
By lunchtime, he had missed a call from the nursery and learned that a client wanted substantial changes to a proposal his team had spent weeks preparing. His office overlooked the Thames, and although he enjoyed his work, its demands had often kept him away from home.
Sarah had understood his ambition, but they had occasionally argued about missed evenings and interrupted weekends. Since her death, he had made a conscious effort to be more present, attending nursery events, learning Lily’s friends’ names and keeping spare hair ties in his briefcase.
Shortly after one, his assistant, Rebecca, appeared at his door. “Sorry to interrupt, but the childcare agency called again. They’d like you to ring them about your current placement.”
Adrian sighed and put down his pen. Rebecca, who had worked with him for nearly eight years, gave him a sympathetic look. “Would you like me to move your two o’clock?”
“No, thank you. I’ll deal with it.”
The call confirmed what he had feared: another nanny had decided not to continue, citing Lily’s resistance to instructions. Adrian thanked the representative, although he struggled to hide his frustration once the conversation ended. His daughter could be stubborn, but she was also affectionate and imaginative, and he suspected the constant changes in caregivers were making things worse.
He had tried part-time nannies, temporary placements and flexible working arrangements, yet none had provided the stability Lily needed. Ideally, he wanted someone qualified and patient who could become a familiar presence in their home. The unused third-floor suite, complete with its own bathroom and kitchenette, would make a live-in arrangement possible, but finding the right person had proved difficult.
His phone vibrated with a message from Ethan.
Dinner tomorrow? Or are you planning to survive on coffee and whatever Lily leaves on her plate?
Adrian smiled. Ethan Vance had been his closest friend since university and one of the few people who had continued treating him normally after Sarah’s death. He regularly appeared with food, entertained Lily and offered unsolicited advice about Adrian’s work-life balance.
Breakfast instead? Seven thirty. Bring your own bagels, Adrian replied.
Your hospitality remains unmatched. See you tomorrow.
Setting down his phone, Adrian glanced at the photograph beside his computer. Sarah stood on their terrace, holding a younger Lily against her hip, both laughing in the summer sunshine. He missed the ordinary details of their life together: her shoes abandoned by the door, her humming in the kitchen and their conversations after Lily had gone to bed. After a moment, he returned to his paperwork, determined to finish in time for nursery collection.
