It was dark and cold as I approached the café, and no lights were on inside. It closed earlier during the winter months, and Gwen would have locked up in good time to catch her bus to Bigbury-on-Sea where she lived with her cousin.

The security light came on as I walked through the empty car park to the function room, glad of the parka Seth had lent me.

‘You’ll have no clothes left at this rate,’ I’d said, prompting an unexpected image of him bare-chested in a rolled-down wetsuit, which had quickly warmed me up.

I wasn’t warm now, having been buffeted by a salty wind racing off the sea, working its way through my layers. I couldn’t even feel my knees, which proved how useless ‘natural’ ten denier tights were, unless you were attending a garden party thrown by the Queen.

I’d rejected Seth’s offer of a lift, aware that Felicity was watching from the window as I retrieved my bags from his car, and told him I’d enjoy the walk.

‘Don’t be a stranger,’ he’d said, hands bunched in his jeans pockets, hair tossed by the breeze, and I’d sensed again his reluctance to let me go. No wonder, as I’d been a buffer between him and his mother, I reflected, striding away as if I didn’t have a care in the world, in spite of what felt like a gale-force wind in my head, tossing my thoughts about.

I hadn’t even said goodbye to Jack.

Reaching the door, I rummaged in my pocket for my keys, before remembering it wasn’t my coat and they were in the handbag I’d brought for the wedding. Putting down the bags of Christmas gifts, I unclasped the handbag and felt around inside. Nothing, apart from my phone, my leather wallet, and a pen that must belong to Mum.

The lipstick wasn’t there either, and I suddenly remembered it rolling out in Seth’s car when I’d dropped the bag. Perhaps the keys had fallen out too.

‘Crap,’ I muttered, switching on my phone torch and checking all the bags, but I knew the keys had been in the handbag – I remembered putting them there, and I hadn’t used them all day.

I leaned my forehead against the cold, glass panel of the door and peered inside, but there was nothing but empty space. It was becoming impossible to imagine it with a proper floor and lights and a Christmas tree, and filled with people holding drinks, singing carols, and generally having a good time. Or, in Jerry’s case, trying to escape Gwen’s clutches. Remembering my promises, I quickly tried Gwen’s mobile on the off-chance she might have missed her bus and could let me in through the café. Guessing she’d want to know how I’d managed to secure an electrician after hours on a Saturday, at this time of year, I mentally rehearsed some answers.

He’s the friend of a friend, and desperately needs some the cash to buy Christmas presents for his children. No. She wouldn’t want some ‘desperado or conman’ on the premises, bound to ‘make a balls-up’.

The original electrician has said he can do the floor one-handed… too ridiculous.

I felt a blast of relief when she didn’t pick up, and remembered her saying the mobile reception at her cousin’s house was terrible. She must be there already.

I just about had time to walk back to the cottage but couldn’t face Felicity again, and really didn’t want to call Seth and ask him to check his car. Then again, I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to get into the function room. I rang his number.

‘Hello?’

I almost dropped the phone. ‘Bridget?

‘Tilly!’

‘Why are you answering Seth’s phone?’

‘Why are you calling him?’ She lowered her voice before I could respond. ‘My god, his mother’s a nightmare,’ she whispered. ‘Talk about suspicious. She’s already accused me of using my daughter to try and trap Seth – did you know his actual name is Ainsley? – and warned me I won’t win. I’ve only been here ten minutes.’

‘What are you doing there?’

‘Romy kept saying Jack’s name and, to be honest, I was bored, so I thought I’d give him a ring and suggest we take the kids bowling in Kingsbridge.’

‘Isn’t Romy a bit young for bowling?’ I’d gone Mary Poppins again. ‘And what about her bedtime routine?’

‘She had a long nap this afternoon,’ said Bridget. ‘She’s bouncing off the walls right now. I needed to get out.’

Not the most romantic of reasons, but a good excuse to see Seth again.

‘Where is Seth?’

‘He had to nip upstairs and investigate some rewiring that’s being done,’ she said. ‘I suppose your team need some supervision while you’re not here, though I imagine his mother will enjoy wielding the whip while we’re out.’

I imagined them packed in Seth’s car, driving to the leisure centre in Kingsbridge, where I’d bumped into Seth and Jack at the swimming pool. ‘Does she mind you all going out?’

‘I don’t think she’s got much choice,’ said Bridget. ‘Seth looked pretty hacked off when I got here. I got the sense they’d had words.’

I had a feeling my name might have come up. ‘Will he mind you answering his phone?’

‘He asked me to, on his way upstairs,’ she said. ‘How was the wedding?’

It took a moment to make the mental shift. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I didn’t go.’

‘WHAT?’ Digby gave two loud barks, as if startled by her shout. ‘What do you mean you didn’t go?’ she said. ‘Where have you been all day?’

‘It’s a long story.’ I was suddenly desperate to get off the phone. My teeth were chattering and my feet had gone numb. My boots definitely weren’t made for walking, and hadn’t been designed for warmth. ‘I’m fine,’ I said, trying to sound jolly. ‘Have a nice evening, and I’ll see you later.’

‘But you haven’t got your car.’ If I didn’t know better, I’d have said my sister was worried about me.

‘When I’m done here, I’m off to meet Cassie and Meg at the Smugglers Inn,’ I said, making a snap decision. If necessary, I’d ask every person there if they knew how to lay a floor, and offer to buy them drinks for life if they’d do the job for me. ‘I’ll get a taxi home.’

I hadn’t looked at my phone since leaving that morning, and saw that Cassie and Meg had messaged to ask how the wedding was going.

So, is he the One? That was Meg.

Cassie’s had asked Have you found your ‘forever man’?

I replied in our WhatsApp group. Rufus IS the One – most likely to bury a body under his patio one day. Not so much forever man, as ‘never man’. There was another message I’d missed, from a number I didn’t recognise. It was the electrician, and as I read it, my heart dropped like a stone. Sorry, can’t do the job tonight after all, wife sick, got to take my kids to a Christmas party in Truro.

I closed my eyes; thought about screaming, or having a quiet sob, but instead went back to the WhatsApp group. Either of you free for an emergency drink at the Smugglers? XX

‘I knew there was something off about Rufus, when you told us he didn’t like dogs,’ said Cassie, flipping a peanut in the air and catching it in her mouth.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that, you might choke,’ said Meg.

‘I mean, who doesn’t like dogs?’

‘People who like cats,’ I said miserably. ‘Although, he doesn’t like cats either.’

‘I can’t believe he tried to lock you in his car.’ Cassie pushed the bag of peanuts across the table. ‘And you reckon he’s gone all stalkery before?’

‘From what he said.’ I paused as a group of revellers entered the pub, almost toppling the heavily decorated Christmas tree by the door. Decor wasn’t the landlord’s forte – the whole pub was a throwback to the eighties – and Bill hadn’t matched the size of the pot to the tree, which was topped by a glowing Yoda wearing a Santa cape, and holding a lightsabre, which made me think of Jack. ‘I feel like an idiot for not trusting my judgement in the first place,’ I said. ‘But he’s out of my life for good now.’

Meg raised her voice over a blast of, ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ from the bar area. ‘Maybe you should report him to the college.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t want him to lose his job,’ I said. ‘I just want to forget I ever met him.’

‘You should have called us,’ said Cassie. She was wearing a paint-patterned shirt and I guessed she’d come straight from her easel, while Meg had a dusting of flour near her hairline that suggested she’d been baking more mince pies. Our motto sisters before misters still held true – but I wondered for how much longer. In less than nine months, Cassie’s priorities would shift, and Meg would be splitting her time between the bakery, and trips abroad with Nathan. Bridget would be returning to her house in Notting Hill in March, and I’d still be at home with Mum and Dad.

‘What is it?’ Meg stretched a hand across the scarred wooden table and gripped my fingers, and the sight of her clean, short fingernails made me feel a bit teary. ‘Are you still shaken up?’

‘Honestly, I could kill him,’ said Cassie, pushing her glass of untouched white wine aside and taking my other hand. ‘Tell us what you’d like us to do.’

‘Cyanide poisoning might be the way to go.’ Meg’s blue eyes sparkled with intent. ‘I could slip some into a cake and have it delivered.’

‘Um, I’m not sure where to get hold of cyanide.’ I blinked, already feeling better.

‘Public humiliation might be easier.’ Cassie gave a wicked grin. ‘I could do a cartoon sketch, highlighting his less flattering characteristics,’ she made the recognised symbol for a tiny willy with her little finger, ‘and stick copies to lampposts all over Devon, with his name attached.’

‘I like that idea.’ I took a gulp of cold beer. ‘But maybe it’s best if I ignore him altogether from now on.’

‘Spoilsport.’ Meg smiled and let go of my hand. ‘Let us know if you change your mind.’

‘I still can’t get over the sight of you in a dress.’ Cassie leaned down the side of the table to take in the full spectacle, while I discreetly scoped the pub for possible electricians and floor fitters. ‘I don’t remember ever seeing you in tights.’

‘Do you mean my itchy leg shackles?’ I said. ‘I noticed when I came in, they’re completely laddered.’

‘I prefer thick black ones. Like the ones we wore at school,’ said Meg. ‘I think I’ve still got a pair, somewhere.’

‘Shame on you.’ My phone gave a melodic tinkle. ‘Uh-oh, talk of the devil,’ I said, seeing a text had arrived. ‘It’s Rufus.’

‘Oh my god, what a nerve.’ Cassie craned her neck to look at the screen. ‘He’d better be doing some sorries.’

Meg came round, enveloping me in her sweet, rose-garden scent. ‘What’s he got to say for himself?’

‘There’s a photo.’

‘You got a dick-pic?’ said a barrel-shaped woman on her way to the ladies, peering over my shoulder with a raucous cackle. ‘Get a lot of them on Tindall.’

‘I think she means Tinder,’ said Cassie and we exchanged horrified giggles.

‘I really hope it’s not a dick-pic.’ I opened the attachment, which – to my relief – revealed a scarlet-faced, grinning Rufus with his shirtsleeves rolled up, and his arm draped around the shoulders of a sweet-faced red-head gazing at him adoringly. ‘Christ, I think he’s pulled.’

‘Maybe he’s got a gun pressed to her side,’ said Cassie.

‘She actually seems really happy,’ Meg observed. ‘Or drunk.’

‘Listen to this.’ I read his text aloud. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t make it today, Tilly, and wanted to let you know that I’ve met someone at Grant’s wedding. She’s called Sophie, she’s a teacher like me, and we’ve really hit it off. I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can see each other again.’

‘What the actual…?’ Cassie’s jaw dropped. ‘He’s actually breaking up with you?’

‘Even though you’ve already broken up with him?’ Meg squeezed my shoulder. ‘What a bloody cheek.’

‘Oh, here comes another photo.’ This time, Rufus and Sophie were standing beneath some mistletoe, doing an open-mouthed kiss.

‘Ew,’ said Cassie. ‘It’s like watching cats licking each other’s faces.’

‘Who’s even taking those photos?’ Meg looked queasy.

‘They’re selfies,’ I said. ‘You can see from the angle of his arm.’

‘Talk about making a point.’ Cassie made a retching sound. ‘It’s revolting.’

‘I suppose if it makes him feel better to think he’s the one doing the breaking up, I’m not going to complain.’ I swiftly typed She looks lovely. All the best x

‘Shouldn’t you be warning her off?’ said Meg. ‘What if he turns dodgy?’

‘She looks into him.’ I risked looking at the photo again. ‘It might be different this time.’

‘See, there’s a bit of romance in you after all.’ Meg nudged my hand. ‘Now, delete his number and those awful pictures, and finish your drink.’

‘Good plan.’ I felt lighter once they’d gone, and had a feeling I wouldn’t be hearing from Rufus again.

‘So, are you back on track for the party?’ said Cassie.

My heart tripped. ‘Definitely!’ There was no way I could go around asking for help, when she and Meg thought everything was under control.

‘You’re sure?’ Meg flashed me a significant look. ‘You know you can say if you’re not, right?’

‘I’ve told you, the room will be ready on the night.’ My gaze slid to my glass, which was almost empty. ‘Stop hassling me, bitches.’

‘There’s only one full day left before our parents get back,’ Cassie pointed out, as if the date wasn’t emblazoned in neon across my frontal lobe. ‘And it’s a Sunday.’

I lowered my head to the table and let it rest there a moment.

‘Tilly, what’s wrong?’ Meg touched my hair.

‘Tilly?’ Cassie picked up my hand and let it drop. ‘Are you ill?’

‘I’m not ill.’ I raised my head and looked at them. I was so tired. I hadn’t even realised how tired I was until that moment, and the crowd at the bar, now doing shots and singing the first verse of every Christmas song ever made, was making my scalp throb. ‘I don’t think I cope well under pressure.’

‘Oh, Tilly, you should have said.’ Cassie sounded stricken. ‘I wouldn’t have…’ She slid a look at Meg.

‘What?’ Meg blinked slowly, like a doll.

‘Nothing.’ Cassie ate a handful of crisps, while I tried to accept that the room might not be finished, and their Christmas Eve would be ruined.

‘Well, I’ve put pressure on her too,’ said Meg. ‘No wonder she’s in a state.’

‘What sort of pressure have you put on Tilly?’

‘I just… I…’ Meg picked up her phone and fiddled with the case. ‘I kept saying how much I was looking forward to the party on Christmas Eve, that’s all.’

‘Me too,’ said Cassie, then blurted, ‘I’m pregnant.’

‘Oh my god, I KNEW it!’ Meg’s voice was a strangled squeal. ‘When you didn’t eat your mince pie or drink your coffee yesterday, I had a feeling there was something you weren’t telling us. And you haven’t drunk your wine.’

‘I wanted to announce it at the party,’ she said, returning Meg’s bear hug, and grinning at me over her shoulder. ‘You know I’m no good at keeping secrets, but I only told Tilly because I wanted to check the party was going to happen.’

‘Well, I’m arranging a wedding for Mum and Dad.’

‘Shut UP!’ Meg fell silent and Cassie giggled. ‘It’s a saying,’ she said. ‘Like, you cannot be serious!’

‘I know.’ Meg grinned. ‘And I am serious, but honestly, Tilly,’ she leaned over again and lifted my limp hands off the table, ‘we could always shift the party to my house. I mean, it’ll be a bit tight because it’s not very big, and they’ll be loads of people coming, but we’ll manage. Just say the word.’

I looked at their beautiful faces, and the urge to cry was overwhelming.

‘You guys.’ I gave them my best Canadian accent. ‘That party’s gonna happen where it’s supposed to, you’d better believe it.’ They raised their glasses, and I lifted my beer bottle, marvelling at the scale of my delusion. ‘But it’s the last time I’m doing a project with such a tight deadline, because it’s turned me into a psycho.’

‘We’ll drink to that,’ said Meg, shaking her head when Cassie and I fell about laughing. ‘Obviously you’re not a psycho,’ she said.

‘Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.’

‘Hey, you two can be godmothers, how about that?’ said Cassie.

As we lifted our glasses again, it struck me that nothing could ever be really bad as long as I could talk to my best friends about it – only, I still couldn’t bear to spoil their Christmas Eve plans. ‘Cassie, do you have a spare key to the café that I could borrow?’

‘There’s one at Mum and Dad’s,’ she said. ‘If you like, we can go and get it, why?’

‘Do you trust me?’

‘With my life.’

‘Good,’ I said. Because I was going to get the floorboards down and sort out the wiring if it was the last thing I ever did.