‘Who would do something like this?’

‘Someone who don’t like us?’ Gwen’s face was blotchy with annoyance. ‘I didn’t see it sooner, ’cos I know you don’t like no one comin’ in ’ere, what wiv the floor bein’ damp and anyway, what is there to see?’

‘So, what made you look?’

Gwen hefted up her shoulders. ‘I’ve got a sixth sense,’ she said. ‘I take after me nan, she ’ad the gift. Swore she saw me granddad not long after ’e’d gone, standin’ outside the window, and there ’e was, large as life in the garden.’

‘His ghost?’

‘Oh, ’e weren’t dead, ’e’d cleared orf with the milkman’s wife, but forgot to take ’is pyjamas – silk they were, don’t arsk me why, ’e weren’t a bleedin’ toff – so ’e came back in the dead of night, but daren’t go in the arse ’cos me nan would ’ave ’ad ’is balls.’

I dragged my gaze back to the windows. ‘And you didn’t see who did it?’

‘I reckon it must ’ave ’appened last night. Probably someone ’oo’d been drinkin’ and fort it’d be a larf.’

My heart gave an unpleasant bump. On the way over, leaving Seth with a promise that I’d be in touch, I’d thought perhaps Jerry hadn’t turned up for work, or Meg had baked a more-spectacular-than-usual cake of the day. What I hadn’t expected was to find several of the windowpanes smeared with purple paint.

‘You got any enemies?’

I looked at Gwen. ‘Me?’

‘Well, it ’ain’t me, mate,’ she said. ‘Everyone loves me.’ I couldn’t argue with that. ‘An’ I doubt anyone’s got a grudge against the Maitlands, ’cos everyone loves them too.’ I couldn’t dispute that either.

‘It’s unlikely to be drunken holidaymakers at this time of year,’ I said. ‘And it’s not as if the café’s in competition with any other businesses around here.’

‘I dunno,’ said Gwen. ‘The landlord at the Smugglers Inn’s a bit peed off that we’ve got a license to serve alcohol on Christmas Eve.’

‘But Bill’s coming to the party,’ I pointed out. ‘And I really can’t see him doing something so… so shitty.’

‘Nah, me neither,’ Gwen conceded, scratching her chin. ‘S’gotta be personal then.’

‘Personal?’ I jabbed a finger at my chest. ‘To me, you mean?’ Gwen widened her eyes a fraction, and my attempt at a laugh fell flat. ‘Nobody dislikes me that much.’

‘Even that bloke you was talkin’ to the other day?’

Rufus. ‘Of course he doesn’t dislike me, just the opposite,’ I said. ‘And, apart from anything, he’s a teacher, Gwen. He wouldn’t do something like this.’

‘I fort you was breakin’ up wiv ’im.’ Her voice was loaded with suspicion. ‘I swear ’e was almost in tears when you was gettin’ ’im some cake.’

‘Of course I wasn’t breaking up with him, I was trying to make a decision about… something,’ I said. ‘And how could you tell he was crying from behind the counter?’

‘’Cos I’ve got eyes in me ’ead.’

About to challenge this, something occurred to me. ‘Actually, I think I recognise the paint,’ I said. ‘It’s Perfect Pansy.’ My stomach plunged. ‘I helped Rufus choose it when he was redecorating his dining room and he bought too much.’

‘So ’e thought ’e’d use it up by slingin’ it over our windows, did ’e, the bleedin’ ’alfwit? You’d better ’ave a word wiv ’im, Tilly.’

‘I’m not saying it was him.’ But it was a hell of a coincidence. ‘Probably lots of people have used that shade of paint.’

‘Not if they’ve got good taste.’ Gwen adjusted her waistband, where she’d adapted a leather tool belt and stocked it with cloths, a spray gun, notepads and a pen. ‘Tell ’im we could get the police involved. Either that, or I’ll pay ’im a visit meself.’

‘But I don’t understand why he’d do something like this.’ Could Rufus have misinterpreted our conversation on the beach? I didn’t see how he could have, but he hadn’t been in touch yet, despite saying he’d call. Maybe I’d misunderstood, and he’d been waiting for me to call him, and when I hadn’t… but no, it was unthinkable he’d be so angry he’d come to the café in the dead of night and chuck paint over the windows. Why not come to my house, if he wanted to make a protest? Why not just talk to me? ‘Has anyone else noticed?’ I shivered into my coat. It was probably psychological, but it felt as if the wind was pushing against the windows, trying to get in.

‘Just me and Jerry.’ Gwen’s eyes burrowed into me. ‘You’d better get out there and ’ope it washes orf,’ she said.

Part of me wanted to argue that I shouldn’t be the one cleaning up, but if Rufus had gone rogue with a tin of paint, I couldn’t deny I’d had some part to play – however unintentional and bizarre.

Supplied with a bucket of soapy water, a sponge, and a pair of rubber gloves, I trudged outside and, before I set to work, I snapped a couple of pictures of the mess with my phone, eyes watering in the wind. It was upsetting to see the manifestation of someone’s frustration – assuming that’s what this was, and not a would-be Banksy expressing their creativity – and I couldn’t get my head around Rufus doing something like this.

I’d just about got the glass clean again, after emptying and refilling the bucket three more times – at least it was emulsion which was easier to clean and it hadn’t stained the wooden frames – when I saw someone rounding the building, his golden-brown hair lifting off his forehead.

‘Danny Fleetwood!’ I lifted a dripping, rubber-gloved hand in greeting, pushing Rufus to the back of my mind – for now. ‘Howdy.’

‘Nice look, Tilly.’ His eyes twinkled at me in their customary friendly fashion. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I squeezed out the sponge, which had turned the water in the bucket a lurid aubergine.

‘It should be obvious, but I’ve never seen anyone clean windows with purple paint before. I normally use plain water.’

‘Ha ha,’ I obliged. ‘It’s…’ I hesitated, and dropped the sponge in the bucket. ‘I don’t really know what it is, to be honest.’

He regarded me for a moment, but didn’t push it. ‘If there’s anything I can do, let me know.’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Is Cassie around?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ I tugged off my rubber gloves. ‘She’s with the mayoress again today, trying to finish her portrait. Didn’t she tell you?’

‘She did.’ He gave a dramatic shudder as an icy blast of air blew his woolly scarf across his eyes. ‘I just wanted to double-check she wasn’t going to suddenly turn up here.’

‘Did you ask Gwen?’

He fought his scarf down. ‘Actually, it was you I wanted to see. Gwen said you were out here.’

‘Oh?’ I smiled at him, because it was hard not to smile in Danny’s company, even when the weather was arctic and I was standing by a bucket of purple water. When I came back from Canada, Danny had been one of the first people I’d bumped into, after Meg. We’d attended the same high school, and I’d had a tiny crush on him – until it became obvious that he’d had feelings for Cassie. Plus, our outlook on life and work was far too similar, neither of us driven by money and, as Bridget had once opined, I needed a man who would shake me up a bit. Or ‘not put up with your crap’ as she’d put it, though I hadn’t understood what she’d meant at the time, considering myself not so much low-maintenance as no-maintenance in the girlfriend department, which was surely what men preferred. And she’d no room to talk, with her terrible taste in men. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

Danny threw a look over his shoulder, as if scoping the area for undercover cops, and before he even spoke, I guessed what his next sentence was going to be. ‘I wanted to ask whether the function room’s going to be ready by Christmas Eve.’ I knew it. ‘Cassie mentioned you were having problems with the flooring, and that the electric still needs sorting out for the lighting.’

‘Why are you asking?’ I kept my tone neutral in case he didn’t know that I knew about the baby, and that Cassie had already approached me about their big announcement.

‘Promise you won’t say anything?’

‘Of course.’ I prepared to arrange my expression into surprised delight, wondering why Cassie hadn’t mentioned to him that I knew about the baby.

Danny looked at the sky and inflated his cheeks, and when he brought his sparkling gaze back to mine, I almost wished I was about to hear the news for the first time.

‘I’m going to ask Cassie to marry me,’ he said, with ill-concealed excitement.

‘What the fudge?’

‘I know!’ He was clearly enjoying my look of (genuine) surprise. ‘I mean, we haven’t been together very long, but it just feels right and what with…’ he paused and looked briefly at the toes of his boots, then murmured ‘… the baby.’

His voice so was jam-packed with emotion that tears caught at the back of my throat.

‘It’s amazing, Danny.’ I touched his sleeve with my freezing fingers. ‘I’m so happy for you both.’

‘You haven’t…?’ He flicked a look at the café.

‘I haven’t told anyone, no, of course not. I promised Cassie I wouldn’t.’

‘And you won’t mention this to anyone?’

‘No!’ I almost shouted, suddenly as close to hysteria as I’d ever come. First Gwen, plotting to claim Jerry like a raffle prize, then Cassie announcing her pregnancy, and Meg organising a wedding for her parents… and now this. It was going to be one hell of a party.

‘Are you OK?’ Danny suddenly looked alarmed, as if my face had changed shape.

‘Are you sure Cassie won’t mind you proposing in front of everyone?’

‘I won’t do that, although I’m fairly confident she’ll say yes,’ said Danny. ‘I just think the setting will be perfect, with our loved ones here, but I’ll ask her outside, or away from everyone, just in case she wants to turn me down.’

‘She won’t.’ I spoke with absolute confidence. It was obvious that Cassie had found someone who would always put her at the centre of his life, and she knew it. ‘It’ll be perfect, Danny. I’m not even going to pretend to gag, like I normally would at such a display of feelings.’

‘Pleased to hear it.’

We laughed a bit, half-embarrassed, half giddy at how huge this was. Cassie was going to be the first of us to get married and have a baby.

‘It’s enough to bring a tear to a glass eye,’ I said, quoting my dad for some reason. ‘Her parents might not survive the shock. They’ve only just got over the excitement of having one grandchild, and now there’s another on the way, plus a wedding.’

‘I nearly went the whole hog and asked Cassie’s dad for her hand in marriage before they went away, but I thought she might not like that.’

‘She wouldn’t,’ I agreed. ‘She’s not into the idea of being given to a man, or any of those patriarchal traditions.’

‘Outrageous!’ Danny adopted the tone of a 1950s husband. ‘I expect her to agree to obey me, and be fully made up with a ribbon in her hair when I get home from work once we’re wed.’ He puffed on an imaginary pipe. ‘Woe betide her if she hasn’t run a duster around the house, or lit the fire so I can unwind with my crossword and a glass of whisky.’

I laughed and, picking up the sponge, flicked water at him, clapping my hand to my mouth when I saw that his windcheater was covered in purple flecks. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry, Danny.’

‘I quite like it.’ He brushed at the splodges with his hands. ‘Very Jackson Pollock.’

‘It’s emulsion, so it’ll come out.’

‘That was very thoughtful of your vandal.’

‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘That’s what I thought.’

‘So, the room will be ready?’

‘It’s all in hand,’ I said, aware I still hadn’t heard back from my broken-armed electrician.

‘Tilly, wot the bleedin’ ’ell are you doin’?’

I wheeled round to see Gwen, bundled into a black quilted coat that made her look twice as wide, walking round from the terrace. ‘I was just talking to Danny,’ I said. ‘I’ve finished cleaning the windows.’

She was looking at me as though I’d blown my nose into my hands. ‘You ’avin a larf?’ she said. ‘There ain’t no one there.’

I turned. Danny had disappeared, and I wondered for a moment whether I’d been daydreaming – until I saw him peering round the side of the building. He mimed a scream before vanishing for real. ‘He was here,’ I said. ‘We were just—’

‘I know ’e was, mate,’ Gwen said. ‘I was windin’ you up.’

‘Well, that’s kind of you, thanks.’ Maybe it was Danny’s news, combined with the shock of the paint on the windows that might have something to do with Rufus, but I felt tears pricking the backs of my eyes again.

‘Go and get yourself an ’ot chocolate before you do anyfink else,’ said Gwen, pulling a stick of chewing gum from her pocket. ‘I reckon you’ve earned it.’

Her tone was gruff, which meant she was being kind, so I nodded, not trusting myself to speak until I’d picked up the bucket. ‘Are you coming in?’

She shook her head. ‘’Avin’ me break out ’ere, to give Jerry a chance to miss me,’ she said, flicking a chunk of chewing gum into her mouth. ‘’E needs to know what a catch I am.’ She winked. It didn’t suit her and, in spite of myself, I mustered a smile. Poor Jerry hadn’t a clue what he was letting himself in for.

‘Oh, and Tilly,’ she called as I walked away.

I turned, trying to hold the bucket so that the water didn’t slosh over my feet. ‘Yes?’

‘Call that bloke of yours sooner rather than later,’ she said. ‘You need to know what ’is game is.’