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between her bare toes, but she didn’t register the discomfort, only stopping when they were twenty or so feet from the water’s edge. Mirren sat down,
automatically crossing her legs, one man on either side, looking out into the glistening waves.
    Her girl was out there. Her beautiful girl. Wild, irrepressible, defiant, wonderful Chloe was in every wave that rushed towards her, every spot where the sun bounced off the water.
    Throat tightening, she barely managed to swallow a tiny piece of Chloe’s favourite chocolate cake. Mirren had baked it for her every year of her life, and still baked now that her ashes
were scattered on the seabed, safe, near her mother, so Mirren could protect her in the way she hadn’t been able to when she was alive.
    Reaching across, her hand found Logan’s, and only then did she find the strength to look back out to the ocean and speak.
    ‘Happy birthday, my darling girl. We’ll never stop missing you.’
    Logan’s arm came around her and she rested her head on his shoulder, her other hand automatically seeking out Jack’s when she heard him choke back a sob.
    There were no words, no stories, no reflections on what might have been. Just three people, staring at the water, holding onto each other to survive the pain, immersed in their memories.
    Only when she shivered did Mirren realize the sun was coming down.
    ‘Let’s go in,’ she said softly, standing first, then holding Logan’s hand while he pulled himself up. ‘Jack, you’re welcome to stay.’
    The flush of embarrassment that crossed his face told her that he had other plans. Hadn’t he always had somewhere else to be? For all those years, she’d bought the myth about the
pressure of spending months of every year away on location. Only when it was over did she realize that she had no idea who he was or what his life had been.
    ‘Or not.’ She attempted to make it light-hearted, determined to ensure Logan felt comfortable when his parents were both with him.
    Jack’s eyes were red-rimmed as he answered. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got a meeting. Another time.’
    It was tempting to rage. Who scheduled any kind of event on their dead daughter’s birthday?
    There was no point waging war. Jack was Jack. He’d go out, screw a twenty-one-year-old supermodel and make himself feel better. Instant gratification. That’s what she’d
discovered drove him. Ego. Power. Vanity. Good luck to him. She’d spend the night with her boy, and Zander said he’d drop by later too. Her son and the man who was now, once again, like
a brother to her. That was all she needed.
    They were almost at the white picket gate that led back onto her property when she caught the figure fifty yards down the sand in her peripheral vision.
    At first, she thought it was a paparazzo. They occasionally came down here in the hope of catching Jennifer Aniston walking her dog. Or Pam Anderson hanging out with her boys in the water.
    Perhaps one of them had been smart enough to realize that today was Chloe’s birthday.
    Slowing down and shielding her eyes from the glare of the setting sun, Mirren peered across. Nope, no camera. It was a woman. And there was a curve to her back, a profile to her face that jarred
Mirren’s soul. She squinted again, trying to get a clearer view, but the woman was on her feet now, walking in the other direction.
    ‘You OK, Mom?’ Logan asked, concerned.
    Mirren shook off the insidious chill that was working its way through the marrow of her bones.
    ‘Yeah, I’m . . . Sorry, it’s just for a second there I thought . . . that woman reminded me of someone.’
    ‘Who?’ Logan was peering after the retreating form now.
    ‘Erm . . . my mum.’ The second it was out, she cursed herself for not thinking quickly enough to come up with a fabrication that would disguise the truth. Logan was going to be
completely freaked out if she carried on like this, especially as she was clearly losing her mind. They said grief sometimes did