Keeping tabs on the customers, making sure no one fed the cats cake, advising youngsters to be careful of claws and to not pull the cats’ ears or whiskers, and explaining why they couldn’t just take one home ‘for a bit’ was exhausting.

Once it became obvious that I couldn’t sit and chat with Adam, we arranged to meet that evening at the Smugglers Inn and he took off to explore the area. ‘It’s a while since I’ve been near the sea, so I’m going to make the most of it.’ He rested his hands on my shoulders and searched my eyes, before grazing my cheek with his lips. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, his breath tickling my nose. It smelt of coffee, and the peppermint he’d popped in his mouth from a tube he’d pulled from his pocket.

Tamsin returned in time for the lunchtime rush and there was a lull before schools kicked out, so I sat and did some sketches of the cats and customers, keeping an eye on the door in case Adam returned, and wondered what I was doing. Each time I remembered his comments about my paintings, I shrank with embarrassment, and had to remind myself we were all entitled to our opinions. I should probably have mentioned the artwork was mine, and that I didn’t like sculpture, but the moment had passed too quickly.

I wondered whether Adam was scoping out somewhere to live in his early retirement. Perhaps he’d want to build his own place, like those people on Grand Designs – a glass-and- metal construction, like an office space – or maybe snap up a listed building, set in several acres, with a pond and an orchard, and a paddock for a pony. I realised I’d drawn out the image in my head, and decided to paint it later, in watercolours.

No, not later. Maybe never. As a future ‘bespoke’ wedding planner, there’d be no time for painting, never mind sketching.

By the time the café flooded with schoolchildren and mums and dads, the cats were starting to look jaded, scooting here and there or hiding, and Mum was looking frazzled from constantly shooing them out from behind the counter. At three thirty, Gwen helped me round them up. Docilely, they followed her back to the office, where they clambered into their carriers, looking relieved. It must be hard being the focus of so much attention, no matter how desperate you were to find a new home. And I was certain that most of them had. In fact, a fight had almost broken out over a rather smug-looking Tabitha, with two families claiming they loved her the most, and that she ‘obviously’ preferred them.

‘Reckon it worked out all right in the end,’ Gwen said, almost flattening Dickens with the force of her stroking. ‘Still a bit much though, pimping them out like this.’ She gave me a sly look. ‘I saw that bloke of yours, picking hairs off his trousers. Don’t seem like much of an animal person.’

‘You’ve just got it in for him because he didn’t want any cake.’ I tried to sound teasing, but didn’t quite pull it off. ‘He’s into healthy eating, that’s all, there’s nothing wrong with that.’ Actually, I’d felt a bit put out that I couldn’t tuck into a wedge of carrot cake, in case he judged me.

‘I’ve got it in for ’im, ’cos of what ’e said about your paintings.’

‘You heard that?’

‘I’d have told ’im to do one,’ she said. ‘Cheeky bar steward.’

‘He’s entitled to his opinion.’

‘As long as it ’ain’t the wrong one.’ I didn’t know whether to be flattered that she rated my art, or annoyed that she was judging Adam without even knowing him. ‘Not that I know anythink about paintings, mind. Only thing I can draw is me curtains, know what I mean?’

In a surprisingly swift movement, she bent to pack Dickens in his carrier, and I concentrated on making sure that all the carriers were securely fastened, with their cargo safely inside. Most of the cats were fast asleep already.

Danny arrived dead on time, bits of leaf in his hair, his stubble like gorse round his jaw. His jeans were covered in mud stains, as though he’d rolled down a hill, but as usual he radiated health and goodwill.

‘All present and correct?’ he said, as Gwen backed out of the office blowing kisses to Dickens. The cat’s face was pressed to the grill of his carrier, and I could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.

‘There’s been plenty of bonding, let’s put it that way.’ I watched Gwen pass her arm over her face as she vanished into the café. ‘I reckon all of them will have new homes by the end of the week.’

‘That’s great.’ A smile broke through the grime on Danny’s face. ‘It’ll take a load off at the shelter. They’re full at the moment.’

‘I’m glad to have helped.’ I felt a flush of pride, now the day was over and had gone without a hitch… apart from one cat escaping, a police officer turning up, and every health and hygiene rule being shattered. ‘Thanks for all this.’ I handed him Tabitha’s carrier, which was significantly heavier than the others, and decided not to mention her little adventure.

‘I hear she escaped,’ Danny said, peering inside and pulling a funny face. I didn’t ask how he knew. The police officer was probably his cousin, or he was psychic, or he knew the woman whose garden Tabitha had ended up in.

‘She ended up in one of my client’s gardens,’ he said, and I did an eye-rolling tut. ‘What?’ He lowered the carrier, feigning innocence. ‘You can’t keep secrets around here.’

‘But I thought you were in Dartmouth today?’

‘Not all of it,’ he said. ‘And news travels fast in Seashell Cove.’

‘I know.’ I handed him another cat. ‘I grew up here, remember?’

---

Getting ready for the comedy night, I reflected that it was nice to have met Adam the way I had, rather than on a blind date, or Tinder – which was basically ‘sex and go’. Not that I’d tried it, but I knew it wasn’t for me. I’d never made the first move before, but now I was glad that I’d shoved my business card into Adam’s pocket that day on the Tube train.

I wiggled into a navy pencil dress with half-sleeves that I hadn’t worn for ages, and paired it with pale pink pointy heels, while humming a tune that had been going round in my head since Rodney’s Dad had played it at the café. Things were going better than I could have imagined. I’d even had an email from the daughter who’d commissioned the dog-photo to say she knew loads more people who wanted pictures of their pets, if I was interested. It seemed impossible that, days ago, my future had hung in the balance. Obviously, I’d have to fulfil my commissions first, but now I had a shiny new job in London that was mine for the taking.

Grace Dewsbury. Even the name was classy.

Out of nowhere, a horrible thought struck. What if Carlotta found out I was working for Grace, and called to tell her she’d fired me? The thought made my stomach sway. It was the sort of thing she’d do to be spiteful, and that would be it. I’d be fired all over again, and Adam would hate me. Oh balls. Seized with panic, I dropped on the edge of the bed and scratched my wrist. Should I come clean to Adam? Maybe I could fudge things a bit; say my ex-boss had had it in for me – which wasn’t a lie – and maybe ask Nina to put in a good word.

Perhaps Carlotta would never find out, too absorbed in her own business to worry about everyone else’s. But event planning was a small world, and word got round.

How could I focus on planning weddings, if I was constantly waiting for the axe to fall? Or, maybe, by the time Grace heard from Carlotta, I’d have proved myself invaluable, and Grace would see that all I’d needed was a second chance.

There was no point worrying about it now, I decided, realising I needed a cardigan over my dress to hide the ugly patch of itchy skin above my wrist. I’d just have to wing it and see what happened.

---

I’d arranged to be at the pub early to meet Andy Farrington, and Mum and Dad were still at the kitchen table when I went downstairs, pushing scrambled eggs around their plates, not speaking. Dad hadn’t returned to the café in the end, saying he’d bumped into an old friend after meeting his accountant. But I’d suddenly remembered he wasn’t keen on cats, since waking as a child one night to find one sitting on his chest; it had crept in through his open bedroom window. He used to tell the story, accompanied by face-twitching horror, and I felt awash with guilt that I’d forgotten all about it.

‘Have you heard from Rob?’ said Mum, as I picked up my keys. She looked tired, and I was reminded again of the almost-conversation I’d overheard.

‘Why?’ I said.

‘No reason.’ A smile chased away the shadows, so I thought I might have imagined them. ‘Just that he’s not been home much these past few days, which is absolutely fine, we’re not keeping tabs on him, or anything.’

‘He’s probably with Emma. Or Nick,’ I said, wishing he’d tell them his news and get it over with. I had enough secrets of my own. ‘He’s fine, don’t worry.’

‘We’re not worried,’ Dad said, a bit too sharply, but when I looked up from burrowing in my bag to check I’d got my phone, he was smiling. ‘We’ll see you up there, love.’

‘Are you bringing Nan?’

Dad shook his head, fork scraping over his plate. ‘I did ask, but she’s happier doing her own thing.’ He sighed. ‘You know your nan.’

‘Maybe you should have insisted, instead of asking,’ I said, still checking for my phone. ‘I think she’d enjoy it.’

When I looked up again, they were staring at each other, as if they’d heard something unfathomable. ‘What is with you two?’ I finally located my phone in one of the pockets of my bag. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Break a leg!’ Mum called after me, as if I was the one about to perform in front of a live audience. My chest tightened on the short drive there, in case there wasn’t going to be an audience at all, but when I pulled up outside the Smugglers Inn I could see straight away it was busy. Being the only pub in the village, that wasn’t entirely surprising, and when I pushed through the heavy wooden doors I was met with an air of buzzy expectation that boded well.

Andy Farrington was apparently in a room out the back, pacing up and down, muttering to himself.

‘He’s been doing it since he got here, an hour ago,’ said Bill Feathers, who defined the word landlord – big and smiley with a booming voice and a set of impressive sideburns – unlike the whey-faced owner I remembered, who’d refused to let Legal Mystics perform at the yearly talent night. Quite rightly, as we were only fifteen, though we hadn’t thought so at the time. ‘He won’t even have a drink to settle his nerves.’

‘Performers are funny like that,’ I said, wondering whether there’d ever been a proper ‘act’ at the Smugglers Inn. The girls were right, it was a bit of a dive now, and the carpet did feel sticky, but it was somehow comforting – like visiting your nan’s and realising nothing had changed since you were a child, down to the chintzy wallpaper in the back bedroom. Not my nan’s of course. Everything was changing there. ‘They have rituals, and are superstitious.’

‘He did ask if I could swap my shirt, because “blue and green should never be seen”,’ said Bill, pointing at the silky black number he must have changed into, which strained across his bulky chest. ‘Thought it was because I didn’t look smart enough.’

Smiling, as he left me to it, I peered round the door to see Andy Farrington in the middle of the badly carpeted floor, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut as if trying to locate all the words in his head and put them in the right order.

‘Everything OK?’ I ventured. His eyes sprang open and I saw they were full of panic. ‘Cassie Maitland,’ I added. ‘I’m the one who booked you.’

‘Yeah, thanks for that,’ he quipped. ‘I’m crapping myself.’ He gave a queasy grin as he shook my hand. It was slick with sweat, and I had to fight the urge to wipe my palm on my dress.

‘Over a small gig like this?’

‘Doesn’t matter whether it’s here or the London Palladium,’ he said. ‘Nerves always get to me.’ I winced in sympathy. ‘They go away as soon as I start,’ he said, and I realised with a flash of insight that mine never did. Not until things were over, and even then I’d replay everything back in my head, wondering what could have gone better. ‘Just as well, or I’d be a basket case,’ he added. His hair was stiff with product, sticking up at weird angles. Comedy hair, I’d thought, the last time I’d seen him perform. ‘But they come back every time. Good job I love what I do.’ He made jazz hands. ‘It wouldn’t be worth it otherwise.’

‘No,’ I said, a hollow feeling in my stomach. I should have eaten before coming out. ‘It probably wouldn’t be.’

‘Really, thanks for booking me,’ he said, unexpectedly. ‘Work’s been a bit thin on the ground since I was dropped from Mock the Week.’

‘Dropped?’ My insides rolled over. So, that’s why he’d been available at short notice.

‘I did a couple of bad-taste jokes.’ Seeing my face, he added, ‘Don’t worry, Cassie, I’ll keep it as clean as a whistle, I’ve learnt my lesson. People don’t want experimental, and I’ll make sure I steer clear of Trump.’

‘Who wouldn’t?’ I joked, despite the knot in my throat.

He let out a high-pitched laugh and clapped his hands. ‘Nice one,’ he said. ‘You should go into comedy.’

Not if my life depended on it. ‘Well, I just wanted to wish you good luck.’ I prayed he wouldn’t need it. ‘They look like a good crowd.’

‘I’ve been booed off stage in seven seconds, been told I’m as funny as piles, had beer chucked over me, and had a heckler who turned out to be my next-door neighbour so, whatever happens, I’ll cope,’ he said, which I found only marginally reassuring.

‘I’ll leave you to your preparations.’

He was pacing again before I’d left the room, and I was relieved to see Adam by the bar, looking out of place in the well-worn surroundings, like a politician at a homeless shelter. ‘You look amazing,’ he said, eyes lingering around my chest. ‘I like the dress.’ If he was puzzled by the plain grey cardigan I’d pulled on to cover my wrists – the other one had broken out in a rash, now – he didn’t show it. ‘What would you like to drink?’

Imagining a tussle between Andy Farrington and someone who’d taken offence at one of his jokes, I knew I should stick to soft drinks. ‘A glass of white wine, please,’ I heard myself say, and Adam nodded his approval.

We’d just settled at a table, facing a scuffed area of wooden flooring, where I assumed karaoke night took place, when Meg and Tilly turned up, bright-faced with anticipation.

‘I’ve been looking forward to this all day,’ Meg said, when we’d all greeted each other, and I’d introduced Meg to Adam. ‘Sam’s training for a cycling event, so he can’t make it.’ I noticed Tilly’s eyebrows arch, and wondered what she was thinking.

‘Can I get you both a drink?’ Adam asked, and when they’d given their orders and he’d gone back to the bar, which was three-deep now – people must be coming from neighbouring villages – they hunched forward with eager expressions.

‘So?’ said Meg, which I knew from old meant tell us everything.

‘He seems nice,’ said Tilly. She was wearing an army-style jacket with the sleeves pushed up, and I wished I could do the same. It was roasting in the pub, but I couldn’t bear to expose my rash.

‘He is nice,’ I said, and quickly told them about the job in London.

‘It sounds amazing,’ sighed Meg, sounding a little bit sad. ‘It’s just a shame you’ve got to go away again, now we’re back in touch.’

She presented it as a fait accompli. It didn’t occur to her that I might not want the job.

Wait. Did I want the job? Fifty grand a year. Of course I did.

‘You and Sam should come and visit,’ I said, helping myself to a handful of crisps from a china bowl on the table. All the tables had them, I’d noticed. Bill had pushed the boat out. ‘And you,’ I said to Tilly. ‘I’ll give you both my new address, once I’m settled in.’

‘Or you could visit us,’ she said. ‘It’s not like you can’t ever leave London.’

‘Of course, if I get the chance. I’ll be busy though.’ I told them about the destination weddings and Meg pulled a face. ‘Sam wants to hire a barn owl for our ceremony.’

‘An owl?’ Even at Five Star we’d never had such a bizarre request.

‘To be the ring bearer. Honestly,’ she said, seeing Tilly’s disbelieving face. ‘It’s a thing, you can look it up.’ We were silent for a moment, imagining it, and when Adam returned with drinks we were in fits of laughter.

‘What have I missed?’ he said, which only made us laugh harder.

He gave a low-level chuckle which turned into a frown as an operatic aria floated from the pocket of his brown suede jacket, which he’d draped over the back of his chair.

‘I bet they’ve never heard that sound in here before,’ Tilly said.

‘I’d better get this.’ Adam took out his phone. ‘Sorry to be rude.’

He moved away with it pressed to his ear and disappeared outside, just as Mum and Dad came in, swiftly followed by Rob. The next few minutes were a flurry of greetings and jacket-shedding and drinks orders, and Rob telling Meg that one of his mates in Year Seven had fancied her at school because he ‘liked older women’.

I kept an eye on the door for Adam. When he came back in he looked distracted. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s a crisis at the bank I need to deal with,’ he said, pulling his jacket back on.

‘You’re going back to London, now?’ I stood up, almost sending the table flying, and he reached out a hand and curled it around my wrist.

‘I need to make some important calls,’ he said, bringing his head close to mine so I could hear him. ‘But I can do it back at the hotel.’ He glanced at the bar, where Mum and Dad were chatting to Bill, and made a regretful face. ‘I’m so sorry to abandon you, Cassie, I was looking forward to spending the evening with you. Can I call you in the morning?’

‘Of course,’ I said, disappointment rising like acid. ‘I hope you manage to sort out whatever it is.’

‘Something incredibly dull that would make your eyes roll back in your head.’ He squeezed my wrist. I desperately wanted to have a good scratch, but couldn’t think of a polite way to do it, so endured another few seconds as he placed his mouth unexpectedly on mine. It was the briefest of kisses – more of a peck – but held the promise of more to come. As he said goodbye to Meg and Tilly, who were pretending they weren’t watching, I touched my lips with my fingertips and realised I was smiling. The smile stayed as he left and I’d sat back down, and it only died when I looked across to Mum and Dad and saw Danny Fleetwood pulling a pint behind the bar.