"Hurry up!" Ben huffed. "Louise, we're going to be late."

"We're always late."

"Well." He pulled a face. "Only when I'm with you."

Louise rolled her eyes. They were jogging along a tree-lined path, dodging stone fountains and colorful red tulips. Regent's Park was surprisingly empty for a sunny Saturday afternoon; the only noise came from the burble of the fountain and the occasional singsong of birds. The scent of freesia hung in the air.

Freesia, and hot dogs.

Louise frowned at her son. "Are you sure he's okay up there?"

"He's fine," Ben said.

"Ben..."

"Look." Ben tickled his foot. "Happy as a clam."

To his credit, Jamie did look happy as a clam; he was sitting on Ben's shoulder, his dark curls bouncing as they jogged through the park. Jamie was also waving around a hot dog with alarming alacrity. And he would probably look equally as happy, Louise thought wryly, when he vomited all over Ben's new orange jumper.

She shrugged. "Maybe it's for the best; I never did like you in orange."

Ben half-turned around, as if he was about to shoot her a rude gesture, and then seemed to think better of it. His eyes caught on the pram that she was pushing.

"How's Blinky doing?" he asked.

Louise peeked over the handlebars. Hugh's old one-eyed frog, Blinky, was in tatters these days, but Jamie refused to be parted with it; the plush toy was nestled among a picnic basket, several nappies, a camera, a pitcher of lemonade, and a copy of "The Kissing Hand."

"Blinky is miraculously still intact," she said.

"And you?" Ben smiled.

"Less intact," Louise said, slightly breathless. "I need to go to the gym more."

"I can take over," Hugh volunteered.

The thirteen-year-old was jogging alongside her, his long legs loping easily over the lawn. Louise's eyes narrowed. Almost too easily. For god's sake, when had she become so old? Surely she should still be able to outrun a teenager.

Apparently not.

She relinquished the pram, letting Hugh take over as they emerged onto a grassy pitch. "When did you get so fast?"

Hugh smirked. "Maybe you're just slow."

"Oh, god," Louise groaned. "Don't make that face."

"What face?" Hugh asked.

"That one." She pointed at him. "You look exactly like your father when you do that."

Hugh's eyes drifted to Ben. "Which one?"

Ben, oblivious to their conversation, had halted several meters ahead. On his shoulders, Jamie was happily pulling fistfuls of green leaves off an old oak. He was singing to himself, arranging them in his father's hair so that he resembled an exasperated tree dryad.

"Both of them." Louise ruffled Hugh's hair. "James would be so proud of you."

Louise said it all the time, but it was true; Hugh didn't have James' mischievous side — he would never have streaked through Clapham, for example — but he had his father's charm and kind heart. The best pieces of James, really.

They paused at the edge of the field. Shrieking children in red jerseys tore across the grass, chasing a football. The air was heavy with the heady scent of oranges. Ben shielded his eyes, scanning the chaos for a familiar brunette ponytail.

"There!" Ben pointed. "Do you see?"

Louise did.

Vienna was hovering near the net, her features screwed up in concentration. Even at eleven-years-old, she was easily the tallest kid on the pitch. Louise watched as a small blond child dribbled the ball up the pitch, his eyes focused on the goal.

Vienna charged at him, swatted him aside as if he were a bothersome fly, and booted the ball down to the other end of the field.

Her team erupted in cheers.

"Oh, god." Ben groaned. "She's a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"Agreed," Louise said.

Hugh brightened. "Great kick, though."

They all watched as Vienna paused, offering a hand to the traumatized child sprawled on the field. Louise sighed. Well, at least she was learning. That had to count for something, right?

"Lou!" a voice called.

All three turned.

Ella was waving madly at them, hopping up and down. One hand was cradled over her very large, protruding stomach. Next to her, Max was fussing over a picnic basket, pulling out a fresh loaf of bread, hunks of cheese, orange juice, grapes and marmite.

"Auntie El!" Hugh called.

Hugh tore off across the field, abandoning the pram. Louise made much slower progress, and by the time she reached their side, Ben and Max were already deep in discussion about the merits of brie cheese over Gouda.

Ella grinned. "Vee's pretty good, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes," Louise said. "Particularly at making kids cry."

"Oh, come on." Ella elbowed her. "You love it. Admit it."

"I can't," Louise said. "At least, not within earshot; it'll only encourage her." She spread out a picnic blanket. "How's the pregnancy?"

"Exhausting." Ella popped a grape in her mouth. "How's work?"

"Also exhausting."

Louise was working around the clock to arrange Arabella Cavendish's fortieth birthday party. Naturally, Arabella had asked for fire dancers, a palace in Monaco, and more of the elusive blood lilies (grown locally, to reduce the carbon footprint). And Jack — who knew better than to ask questions at this point — had happily agreed to all his wife's requests.

It was proving a nightmare to arrange. But thankfully, Louise reflected, she could work from home now; she was fitting in business meetings around changing nappies and dropping the kids at school. That was one of the many benefits of having her own company: she could choose whatever hours she wanted.

Louise nibbled on a cracker. "When are you due again?"

"August second," Ella said.

She whistled. "One month to go, hey?"

"Can't come soon enough." Ella looked longingly at the Brie cheese. "My god, I can't wait to eat sushi again. And drink wine. And get back in the recording studio." She patted her stomach. "My baby's going to be a musical prodigy."

Louise smirked. "What if she ends up being an accountant?"

"Then we'll disown her," Max said, plopping down beside them. "Immediately."

Ella scowled. "Max!"

"What?" he asked.

"We're not disowning anyone," Ella said.

"Fine." Max kissed her cheek. "We'll just love the other kids a bit more."

She sighed. "Max, I swear—"

"Sorry!" Ophelia called. "Sorry, I know we're late."

Louise looked up just in time to see Ophelia trip over a stick. Andrew's arm shot out, steadying his wife and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "bloody city girl." Ophelia smiled, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. Their two kids, Austen and Frank, descended on the picnic.

Austen fumbled with the knife, almost cutting off a finger instead of the cheese. Hugh knelt next to her.

"Here," Hugh said. "Let me."

Austen scowled. "I'm not a child. You don't need to baby me."

Hugh held up his hands. "I'm just trying to help."

Austen gave him a look, flicking her golden hair over her shoulder. She might be only eight years old, Louise thought, but she'd already mastered Andrew's infuriating smirk. Heaven help whatever brave soul tried to date her down the line; Austen would chew him up and spit him back out again.

And then there was Andrew.

Louise didn't even want to imagine what he'd be like when his daughter started dating; he'd probably lock Austen in a tower, Rapunzel-style, and sit outside of it with a shotgun. And Ben would be the same with Vienna.

Not that Vienna needed defending.

Louise watched as her daughter slammed into a boy, knocking him over. She and Austen were going to be terrors as teenagers. Absolute terrors.

"I need coffee," Ophelia moaned, collapsing beside her. "Pronto."

Ella smiled. "Bad jet lag, huh?"

"The worst," Ophelia said.

"What time did you get in?"

"Midnight." Ophelia pulled a face. "We almost missed the plane, too; Frank lost his book and he refused to budge until we found it."

Louise smiled. Ophelia, Andrew and the kids had all flown out to Canada for a week, staying with Sophia and Finn at their ranch in Alberta. She'd seen photos of the kids trying on cowboy boots, and photos of a lovely dinner at Blush Winery. She had even seen a video of Finn and Andrew competing in an impromptu horse race, which had ended in Finn falling off and breaking his arm.

"Never again," Sophia had told her over the phone. "I'm never letting those boys anywhere near each other. It always ends in disaster."

Andrew had driven Finn to the hospital, where he proceeded to doodle horses all over his cast along with the words, "I Am a Loser." But Ophelia had assured the girls that the rest of the trip had been relatively smooth.

"Did the kids get on?" Louise asked.

"Oh, yeah." Ophelia grinned. "Ivy is an angel." She munched on a grape. "She has all of Sophia's charm and none of her sass, thank god."

"She's competing in her first rodeo, right?"

"She just won her first rodeo," Ophelia corrected. "Junior Ladies Barrel Racing." She cut off a piece of brie cheese. "Finn showed us her gold medal so many times that I thought I'd go blind."

"Sounds like Finn," Louise said.

They all leaned forward as Vienna blocked a well-placed shot. Louise gave a cheer, pumping a fist. On the field, Vienna copied her movement, beaming from ear-to-ear. Pride swelled in her chest. Pride, and something else.

Unconditional love.

It was strange to think, Louise reflected, that there had been a time in her life when she felt like she wouldn't be able to love anyone again; after Millie died, she'd given up on the idea of letting people in. But Vienna and Hugh had wormed their way into her heart, and then Ben had done the same.

She caught his gaze.

Ben was standing at the edge of the pitch, a dozing Jamie in his arms. He ran a hand through his dark hair. Louise smiled; she knew that hand. That hand had stroked her hair when she had nightmares, and it had made her coffee in the morning; it was excellent at Twister, and it liked to work late in the evening, scribbling clauses and conditions.

Ben's dark green eyes were warm.

I love you, he mouthed.

Louise's smile grew. She wondered where they would be in ten years from now. This very day. Would they still be sitting on the side of a grassy pitch, cheering their children on? Would they be in the Alps, chasing each other around on bikes? Or would they simply be at home, cuddled up in front of the fireplace, savouring two mugs of hot chocolate?

It didn't matter, really.

So long as they were together.

The woman stood at the edge of the football pitch.

She could feel the breeze cut through her. Feel the thrumming laughter. She could feel all of it, rushing through those veins that had stopped working years ago, that now carried wind and wishes, empty sinews and secrets.

They could not see her, but she was here.

She watched as her daughter chased the football across the field. She watched as her son squabbled over cheese. She watched as her sister leaned her head against a man's shoulder, kissing his cheek. And she smiled.

Millie took her husband's hand.

I am here, she thought, watching over you all. And I love you.

I am here, in the wind. In the afternoon sunshine.

I am here, in your heart.

I am here.

I am here.

I am here.