The kitchen showroom was busy that Sunday afternoon. Sleek white and modern? Traditional wood? Sparkling granite? Rory had no idea which kind of kitchen she wanted. She’d be fitting it herself, so ‘easy to install’ was top of her list.

Sheila had insisted that she came shopping with her. ‘I don’t want you just choosing the cheapest option; I know what you’re like. I gave you that money so that you can make the place nice for you and Belle.’

‘I’m not even sure I need a new kitchen. Maybe just an oven and a new sink would do.’ The cost of these kitchens was eye-watering.

‘That’s what I mean. I don’t want you to make do. I want you to have a nice home.’ Sheila held up her finger. ‘Plus, I do not want to have any more dinners out of cardboard boxes at your house, thank you very much. Now, which one do you like?’

Rory looked around her. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

Sheila prodded her in the back. ‘Well, try one of them on.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Have a go in one. See how it feels.’ She pushed Rory firmly towards a mahogany ensemble. Corsica, according to the plastic display board. ‘Go on.’

Rory stood helplessly in front of the oven. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Sheila waved her arm around. ‘Open the oven. Pretend you’re looking at a roast chicken.’

This was ridiculous. But Rory opened the oven and peered inside. ‘Is this method acting? Because I really need time to get into character. Channel my inner housewife.’

Sheila shook her head. ‘No. That isn’t you. Too old-fashioned. Try the white one over there.’ She frowned as Rory ambled over to it. ‘Don’t just stand there. Stick your hands into the sink. Pretend you’re washing up.’

At least this was more fun than wandering around aimlessly. ‘You need to give me something to work with here, Mum. Am I washing a roasting tin? Wine glasses?’ Rory turned back to the sink and pretended to hold up a glass. ‘The smears on this. I really should change my liquid.’

‘Do you need any help, ladies?’

Rory jumped and turned around to see a man young enough that she could have taught him in the last five years. He gave them a toothpaste-ad smile.

‘Yes, please.’ Sheila had taken control. ‘We would like to buy a kitchen.’

The young man winked at them. They probably deserved that. ‘Then you’re in the right place. Shall we sit down?’

As per the instructions on the showroom’s website, Rory had written down the dimensions of her kitchen, marking on the doors and window. She passed these to the young man – ‘Please, call me Adrian’ – and he punched them into his computer before spinning the screen around to show her a 3D picture of her kitchen.

‘Well, isn’t that clever?’ Sheila looked like Penny had when watching Nathan’s PowerPoint. ‘It looks just like your kitchen, Aurora. Only cleaner.’

Call Me Adrian took them through the rest of the process, moving cupboards and white goods around the room with a flick of his mouse. ‘Once you have the layout, you can choose which doors and worktops you want.’

Rory leaned closer to the screen. ‘And are these all quite easy to put together?’

Call Me Adrian slid an A4 glossy brochure across the desk. ‘We have a full installation service available. It starts from as little as two-nine-nine-nine.’

Rory nearly choked. Three thousand pounds? ‘It’s okay. I’m going to do it.’

It was impossible to tell who looked more incredulous: Call Me Adrian or Sheila.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rory.’ Sheila got there first. Although Call Me Adrian didn’t contradict her. ‘Just let the professionals do it.’

But Rory was not going to be persuaded on this one. Electrics and plumbing were beyond her, but she’d put together a variety of IKEA furniture over the years. How different could this be?

Then Sheila’s eyes lit up. ‘Unless you were going to ask Mr Prince to do it?’

Rory ignored her and turned back to Call Me Adrian. ‘How soon can I get this delivered?’

---

Rory and Sheila were still arguing about whether or not she should pay for installation, when Rory heard her name called. ‘Ms Wilson?’

She turned with a fixed smile. Bumping into pupils, or parents of pupils, was relatively common when you lived in the catchment area of your school. Often it happened when you had a large bottle of gin in your trolley, or you’d decided to dash to your local Spar without combing your hair.

But this wasn’t a student or a parent. It was the deputy head. Nathan Finch.

He looked very different outside of school. In place of the sharp suit was a polo shirt and jeans. His hair wasn’t quite so perfect. He was softer, somehow.

He waved a brochure in the air. ‘Are you kitchen shopping too?’

‘Er, yes.’ Rory was conscious of Sheila floating at her shoulder. ‘This is my mother, Sheila.’

‘Hi.’ Nathan stuck out his hand. ‘Nathan Finch. I work with your daughter.’

Sheila beamed, shook his right hand, then looked directly at his left one. Oh God, she was looking for a wedding ring.

‘Your daughter is a real asset to St Anthony’s. Everyone speaks very highly of her. I only joined this term, but I’m already beginning to see why they are so keen on her.’

That was surprising. Praise?

‘Nathan is the new deputy head, Mum.’ If Rory was hoping that this information would signal to her mother that she could dial down on the 100-megawatt smile, she was sadly disappointed.

‘That’s a lovely thing to say. Every mother likes to hear that her daughter is doing well.’ Her laugh was borderline flirtatious. Rory needed to escape. Could she fit herself inside the under-the-counter fridge behind her?

It got worse. Sheila was on the offensive. ‘So, have you moved into the area? With your family?’

There was no time for the fridge. Rory should just fake a faint. Right now.

‘Yes. I’ve got a flat near to the school. Just me, though. No family.’

Had Nathan just flicked a glance in Rory’s direction? If she held her breath, could she make herself pass out?

‘Well, I’m sure you’ve got lots to do and Mum needs to sit down, so we’ll leave you to it.’ Rory put a firm hand on Sheila’s back and nearly catapulted her in the direction of the door.

‘See you Monday!’ Nathan called.

Once they were sitting down with a drink in the café next door, Sheila started. ‘He seems lovely, Aurora. And not at all how you described him.’

To be fair to her mother, Nathan hadn’t looked – or acted – as he usually did. It was quite unsettling to see this other side to him. Now Rory knew how the students felt when they encountered her out of school and treated her like an E-List celebrity.

‘Don’t be fooled, Mum. He has not been like that in school.’

Sheila was not for turning. ‘Perhaps you haven’t seen the real him yet. You shouldn’t judge people until you have got to know them.’ She brought her teacup to her lips and blew on it. ‘Speaking of which. I’ve seen the new tenant. The wife.’

At least this would get her mum off the subject of Nathan Finch. ‘Did you?’

‘I bumped into her in the lift. She looks older than him, although it’s difficult to tell – it really ages a woman when she doesn’t dye her hair. And’ – she paused for emphasis – ‘she had a big bruise below her right eye.’

Rory frowned. ‘Did you speak to her?’

‘Well, she seemed a bit agitated, so I asked if she was okay and she shook her head. When the doors opened at the ground floor, her husband was standing there waiting for her! He looked really cross and took her away with him back to their flat; barely even looked at me. I felt very uncomfortable.’

Maybe Belle had been on the right track about him. ‘That does sound odd, Mum. Maybe you should be suspicious.’

‘That’s what I thought. So, what shall I do? Go round to her flat?’

Rory drained her coffee mug. ‘I don’t know. You still don’t know much about them.’ Rory was all for helping people out, but she didn’t want her mother to put herself in a vulnerable position. ‘Give it a couple of days and see what he’s like once they’ve settled in properly. If you’re still worried, I’ll come with you and we’ll drop by and say hello.’

Sheila poured the last four drops out of her teapot into her cup. ‘Thanks, love. You’re right, I need to let them settle in first.’

Rory wanted to leave. She was concerned about running into Nathan again. Plus, John was at her house repairing the cornice. She’d merely asked him to loan her a large stepladder so she could reach, but he’d mumbled something about his public liability insurance and how he’d have to do it himself. Nevertheless, she really wanted to get back and help. ‘Shall we go?’

Sheila put down her cup and shuffled to the end of the booth. ‘Yes, let’s go. It’s the same with your deputy head chap, you know. You need to let him settle in before you make your mind up.’

Not this again. Rory stood and held Sheila’s coat out for her. But could her mother be right? Had Rory misjudged Nathan Finch?