At a loose end after Adam had dropped me home, having pressed a kiss on my fingers before driving off, I called Andy Farrington’s agent.

‘Worth every penny, was he?’ Her voice was ripe with sarcasm.

‘Definitely,’ I said, taking it on the chin. I could have found a local comedian for a lot less than Andy’s fee, if I’d really tried, but the fact that he’d been on TV – and was a bit risqué – had undoubtedly added to his appeal. ‘Please pass on my thanks.’

I brushed off the overwhelming temptation to go back to bed, and decided to make the most of the day by taking my sketch pad and pencils to the beach. It wasn’t as if I needed to think about my career any more, other than what to wear to impress Grace Dewsbury, and I had plenty of outfits that should do the trick.

As I strolled to the beach, I wondered whether I should phone The Brook to check whether Danny was working later. Had he meant us to eat there together tonight, or to cook me a meal? Either way, in spite of my drunken pass the night before, I doubted his invitation still stood. But it would be awkward if he was there, and saw Adam and me.

I’d half expected him to call, to gloat about our snog, then remembered he didn’t have my number. It wouldn’t have been hard to get hold of though, and I fished my phone out of my bag to check, but there were no missed calls. No message from Adam either. Not that I’d expected one. He’d be on the motorway now, foot down, singing along to ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’, while Danny would be working at one of his many jobs.

I remembered what Bill had said about Danny sending him the clip of Andy Farrington, and wondered why Danny had gone out on a limb like that. He couldn’t have been trying to win me over if he hadn’t even bothered to tell me about it, so maybe he was just being… nice.

My mind felt full of sharp edges, so I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, careful to steer clear of the café, because I didn’t want to be spotted, knowing it would lead to questions about Adam’s whereabouts.

Down on the beach, I walked past the fortresses of windbreaks and tartan blankets and sat on a smooth-topped rock, out of sight of the café, and angled my head to the sun to warm my face. There wouldn’t be any of this once I was back in London. And even in Thailand or Fiji, or wherever I was required to arrange a wedding, there wouldn’t be time to relax and soak up the atmosphere.

My shoulders tightened as I took out my phone and googled Grace Dewsbury. Her website was exquisite; all pastel colours and tasteful fonts, and dramatic shots of brides and grooms in stunning surroundings. Prices ranged from outrageous to unbelievable. Surely roses dipped in gold were a step too far, and was it really necessary for a bride to arrive by elephant, or to fly in a world-class tap-dancing troupe for the wedding reception?

Grace’s profile picture was intimidatingly beautiful. Couldn’t she have had scraped back mousy hair and a bad complexion, instead of softly cascading blonde waves around a flawless heart-shaped face? I’d have to get my hair re-done. The Plumberry was growing out, leaving behind a sludge-coloured strip at the roots. Maybe I could go lighter, this time – marmalade, perhaps. Or very dark. Midnight black, or maybe a tawny colour, with lighter stripes… I realised I was thinking in cat colours, just as my phone rang. It was Liz from the shelter, calling to apologise for not making it to the café.

‘Danny said you did a great job of looking after the cats,’ she said, while I bit my lip in an agony of guilt, wondering what he’d have made of everything that had happened before he’d turned up to collect them. ‘And it’s not the first time Tabitha’s escaped,’ she went on. ‘That’s why it’s been hard to find her forever home. But we’ve had so many queries today, we don’t think she’ll be here much longer.’

When she didn’t suggest a repeat of the event, I was flushed with guilty relief. I was pleased it had worked out well for the cats, but it had been a strain being responsible for all those feline futures. Better to stick with people, who could at least voice a criticism (and frequently did) and say if they weren’t having a nice time.

I’d just pulled out my sketch pad, when I heard familiar female voices. Using my pad as a visor, I saw Meg and Tilly approaching, shoes dangling from their fingers. ‘How did you know I was here?’ I said, when they’d thrown themselves down on the sand in front of me, faces brimming with smiles. Tilly had an emerald scarf wound around her hair, fastened in a bow on top, and Meg’s Maitland’s shirt was the exact same shade as the sea.

‘I saw you walking down the path,’ Meg said, brushing at her sandy feet. ‘It’s my lunch break and I was having coffee on the terrace with Tilly.’

‘Today’s walk was cancelled,’ said Tilly, sifting sand through her fingers, squinting her eyes against the sun’s glare. ‘I was celebrating with cake.’

‘I thought you liked walking.’

‘I do, but it’s nice to not do anything too.’ I couldn’t help smiling. That just about summed up the Tilly I remembered. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

‘I was with Adam, but he got a call and had to drive back to London.’

I couldn’t miss the little look she exchanged with Meg.

‘He’s coming back,’ I said, with a bristle. ‘We’re going out for a meal this evening.’

Meg’s eyes grew round. ‘Isn’t it something like a four-hour journey?’

‘More.’ I suddenly realised how big a deal it was. All that way – for me.

‘Wow,’ said Tilly, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees. ‘No one’s ever made an eight-hour round trip to take me out to dinner.’

‘If they did, you’d have forgotten and gone out with someone else,’ I said, amazed by how comfortable I felt in their presence. ‘Or you wouldn’t be in the mood.’

‘True.’ Her smile was accompanied by a gentle prod at my shin. ‘I couldn’t cope with that sort of intensity.’

‘Most women would love some intensity like that.’

‘Including you?’

I half laughed, but the truth was, I didn’t know. Nothing like it had ever happened to me before. It didn’t feel wrong, I knew that much. It was lovely knowing someone was willing to go the extra mile – or hundreds of miles, in Adam’s case.

Eager to change the subject, I said, ‘I was going to pop into the café when I was done here,’ even though I hadn’t planned to. I still hadn’t fully processed everything that had happened that morning, and wanted to avoid Mum and Dad for a bit longer. I knew they’d be anxious to reassure themselves that they hadn’t done the wrong thing by revealing their true feelings, and I wasn’t ready to face them when mine were still such a tangle. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about last night.’

‘That’s why we’re here, actually.’ Meg looked at Tilly as if for confirmation before continuing, and Tilly gave a little nod. ‘We’re staging an intervention.’

‘What?’ I stared at Meg, half wondering what product she used to make her hair so impossibly shiny. ‘I don’t think a few glasses of wine on an empty stomach warrants an intervention.’

‘I’m sure Danny Fleetwood would agree with you.’ Seeing Tilly’s saucy pout, I went hot all over. ‘And it’s not that sort of intervention,’ she said, before I could produce a coherent response.

She plucked my pad from my lap and started flicking through it. ‘These are great,’ she said, showing Meg. ‘Can I have the one of the cat washing its face?’

‘If you want.’ I stroked a strand of hair off my cheek. ‘It’s not very good.’

‘You have to stop that.’ Meg wagged a mum-like finger. ‘Making out you’re not very good, when you quite clearly are.’

‘I’d pay for one,’ agreed Tilly. ‘Top dollar.’

Not knowing how to handle their compliments, I said, ‘Look, what’s this about?’

Tilly put down the pad and knelt up, tugging her phone from the pocket of her jeans. ‘We were looking up all the qualities you need to be a successful event planner.’

It was the last thing I’d expected her to say, and I felt a cold plunge of dread. ‘And?’

Still on her knees, she read aloud from her screen. ‘Good interpersonal and people skills.’

‘I like talking to people. If I’m in the mood.’ People I actually like. Thinking back, there hadn’t been too many of those during my time at Five Star.

‘Creative.’

‘I’m definitely creative.’

Meg held up a finger. ‘Listen, Cassie, it’s important.’

I folded over and ran my fingers through the sand between my feet. ‘Go on.’

‘Tech savvy,’ Tilly continued, in a schoolmarm voice. ‘Flexible, good organisational skills, great eye for details, natural leader, enthusiastic and passionate about your role.’

‘OK, I get it.’ I straightened, brushing sand from my hands, wondering whether the hurt I felt was written all over my face. ‘You’re saying I’m none of those things.’

‘Hang on.’ Tilly held up a finger, and carried on reading. ‘Event coordinating is one of the top ten most stressful professions, up there with being a fire fighter or pilot. For the second consecutive year it’s been ranked number five, behind police officer.’

‘That’s just silly,’ I said.

Meg laid a hand on my knee, the jewels in her engagement ring winking in the sun. ‘Last night, you looked terrified,’ she said. ‘Even though it was going really well. And when you were telling us about your job the first day we saw you at the café, you got this sort of glazed expression – like you were trying to remember what it was you actually liked about it.’

‘We didn’t see it at first,’ Tilly said, sitting back. ‘It just felt like something was off.’ I could feel perspiration gathering on my brow. ‘Then, last night, when you were in the garden – those things you said, about being fired from your job. You looked relieved.’

‘That’s rubbish, I was gutted—’

‘It all made sense,’ Meg broke in, her hand cupping my knee. ‘All this time, you’ve been trying to be something you’re not, and wearing yourself out in the process by the look of it.’

I jerked away from her touch. ‘Sounds like you’ve been having a good old bitch about me behind my back.’

Meg’s face fell. ‘Oh, Cassie, we’d never do that. We’re worried about you.’

‘We don’t think you should take that job in London.’ Tilly gave me her steadiest look. ‘It won’t make you happy.’

Tears formed in my eyes, and I tilted my head back so they wouldn’t see. ‘I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all. We all say stuff when we’re drunk.’

‘Yeah, stuff we usually mean,’ said Tilly. ‘Are you saying you didn’t get fired?’

‘No, but that doesn’t mean I’m glad about it.’ Blinking furiously, I began stuffing my things back into my bag.

‘Do you love your job?’ Tilly pushed.

‘You can learn to love something, if you do it long enough.’ I was talking in Nina’s quotes again.

‘You can learn to get used to it,’ Tilly countered. ‘Not the same thing.’

‘Do the same thing, day after day, year after year, and good things will come your way. And they have.’ I was becoming high-pitched in the face of Tilly’s unnatural scepticism. ‘There’s a job in London I wouldn’t have dreamed could be mine a couple of months ago.’

‘That doesn’t mean you have to take it.’

I stood up, lungs tight. ‘Look, you think you know me, but you don’t,’ I said, striving to stay calm. ‘We haven’t seen each other for years. You’ve no idea how I feel about anything.’

‘We do, because we’ve got eyes and ears, and it’s obvious that something’s not right.’ Meg’s voice was gentle.

‘Mum and Dad don’t see it.’ I realised too late that my words were a sort of admission, and dumped myself back on the rock.

‘Parents often see what they want to.’ Tilly’s smile stayed in place but her entire face looked troubled, and I felt as if I’d jumped into icy water.

‘If they knew I’d been fired…’ I gulped back tears, and Meg raised her eyebrows just a fraction, like someone encouraging a toddler to tell the truth. ‘They’d be so disappointed,’ I blurted. ‘They love having a daughter they can boast about, and, to be honest, I liked being that daughter. Even if things weren’t always as exciting as I made out.’ I swiped a hand over my face. ‘I worked so bloody hard, I was certain Carlotta – that was my boss – would eventually promote me, and I’d be able to move out of my flat – which was tiny, by the way, because it was all I could afford – and buy somewhere more glamorous. And maybe I’d get an assistant and be able to cut down on my hours a bit, but it didn’t happen because I was so tired all the time that I messed up a couple of jobs. But Mum and Dad are so proud of me, I couldn’t bear to let them down and tell them the truth, especially after Rob had announced he was back for good.’ The words tore in my throat. ‘I still can’t.’

‘Oh, Cassie.’ Meg sounded on the verge of tears. ‘If they’d known, they’d have understood, and asked you to come home straight away.’

My head shook, fiercely. ‘They’ve always stuck to their policy of non-interference, you know what they’re like,’ I said. ‘And I didn’t want to come home. I mean, I did – I really missed this place at times – but not because I had no choice.’

Tilly’s mouth turned down. ‘They wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.’

‘I’m not,’ I said. ‘At least, not any more. I was worried about becoming my own boss, and not having any money, but now I’ve been offered this amazing job and I’d be mad to turn it down.’ I was gabbling, in my effort to make them see it through my eyes. ‘I’ll be in charge this time, so I can set my own hours, and I can put into place everything I’ve learnt.’

‘I s’pose.’ Meg looked doubtful.

‘I don’t know,’ said Tilly. ‘It might be even more stressful than working for a horrible boss.’

‘I’ll have an assistant,’ I said, because that seemed like the most important part. ‘It’ll be like The Devil Wears Prada.’

‘What, you being a bitch?’ Tilly’s frown cut a line between her brows. ‘We can’t make you change your mind, but I’m telling you, Cassie, you’ve got a future here if you want it.’

‘Not one where I can earn fifty thousand a year.’

‘Good point.’ Meg was making an effort to match my tone. ‘I’d do the job for that salary.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Tilly scoffed. ‘Sam wouldn’t want you to.’

Meg scooped up a handful of sand and threw it in Tilly’s lap. ‘He would if it stopped his mum sending links to possible wedding venues.’

‘I could do that,’ I said, my mood miraculously lifting. ‘If you don’t mind selling your grandmother to pay for it.’

‘When do you have to go?’ Tilly’s question had an air of resignation.

‘Soon,’ I said. ‘I’ll need to travel to London next week to talk to Grace Dewsbury.’

Tilly’s face cleared. ‘Hey, there’s a barbecue at the Smugglers Inn on Saturday afternoon. We should do our routine there.’

‘Yes!’ Meg punched the air with both hands. ‘We’re long overdue a Legal Mystics reunion.’

‘Oh god.’ I buried my face in my hands. ‘We can’t.’

‘We can,’ said Tilly, pulling my hands away. I was relieved to see her smiling. ‘And we will.’

‘I’m not sure the world is ready for my vocals.’

‘No, but I reckon the locals are.’ Meg’s eyes danced. ‘They loved us the first time round.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ I said. ‘They could forgive us when we were teenagers.’

Meg was already jigging her shoulders and humming the tune we’d belted out.

‘I’ve still got my outfit.’ Tilly gave an impish grin. ‘I found it when I was packing to come back from Canada. Even those awful trainers. I’ve no idea why I took them with me.’

‘I’ve kept mine too,’ Meg confessed. ‘I can just about fit into the combat trousers.’ Seeing our quizzical looks she said airily, ‘I might have tried them on.’

‘I bet mine are still in my wardrobe,’ I said. ‘I’ll check when I get home.’

We exchanged little smiles, a feeling of warm relief flowing between us, and I was suddenly overcome with gratitude that they’d cared enough to find me and tell me how they felt – even if I didn’t agree. For a moment we gazed at the sea, which the breeze had tossed into white-capped peaks, and a feeling of peace descended.

‘I suppose I ought to get back to work,’ Meg said, but didn’t move.

‘Just five more minutes.’ Tilly reached for her jacket and bundled it into a pillow. ‘Let’s lie down like we used to and imagine we’re sixteen again.’

‘That’ll be a bit of a stretch,’ said Meg, but she shuffled onto her back, lacing her hands behind her head, and I slipped between her and Tilly, resting my head on my bag as I stared at the sky. It was so big, and blue, and vast, that my worries shrank instantly. A couple of seabirds dipped and turned, caught on a current of air, and distant childish squeals took me back to all the happy times I’d spent on this beach.

‘What would you say to your sixteen-year-old self?’ said Tilly, lazily.

Meg shifted, lowering her arm so it brushed against mine. ‘I’d say, cutting your own hair’s a big mistake.’ We snorted, remembering the time she’d tried to layer it to look like Rachel’s from Friends, only it kept on getting shorter.

‘You looked like Austin Powers in the end,’ I said, giggling.

‘Hey, it wasn’t that short!’

‘I’d tell myself to leave my eyebrows alone,’ said Tilly. ‘I spent a year looking permanently surprised and no one told me.’

‘That’s because all the girls looked the same,’ I said. ‘Apart from me.’

‘You were trying to start a new trend.’ Meg’s shoulder bumped mine. ‘Strong, bushy brows.’

‘I was way ahead of my time.’

Tilly’s voice held a trace of laughter when she said, ‘So what would you say, Cassie?’

Her hand nudged mine and I caught hold of it, pushing my fingers through Meg’s on the other side, feeling warmth spreading across my chest. ‘That’s easy,’ I said. ‘I’d tell myself to never lose touch with my friends.’