“Sorry,” said Zoe. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Sometimes I still have my London head on, where you never talk to strangers. It’s an old habit. Also, young people like you I’m sure wouldn’t be remotely interested in hanging out with someone else’s billion kids. But, listen, would you like coffee sometime? Or we’re all going to the fair when it comes . . .”

Normally Lissa would have shut down—smiled politely, backed away—desperate not to reveal that she was dreadfully lonely. But she made a decision, as she went to open the car door, to try something new.

“Yes, please,” she said. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

And they swapped numbers, and as Lissa drove away she found she was smiling and decided, being on a roll, to head into the village square and treat herself to a book.

There were a few people gathered around the book bus in the village square, and she went up to have a little look. A pretty woman smiled hello as Lissa poked her head around the door. The bus was like a little TARDIS, far bigger than it looked from the outside, and crammed with every type of book imaginable. It even had, Lissa was amazed to note, a tiny chandelier swinging from the ceiling.

“Hello!” she said. “Oh, you’re the English girl! Hello again!”

“The locals think we’re invading, one person at a time.”

“I know, I met Zoe.”

“I’m Nina, by the way. You know, three is definitely enough for a coven,” she said. “It’s really going to scare the wits out of Mrs. Murray.”

“Why the influx?”

“Well,” said Nina, smiling quietly to herself, “the men round here are . . . well, some of them.”

Across the square, Wullie, who haunted the pub, and Eck were sitting outside on an absolutely ancient bench, enjoying the sunshine, even though they were still wearing their flat caps and overcoats and high tied scarves. They waved to Nina, who waved back cheerfully.

“My investors,” she said, completely bamboozling Lissa. “So, how are you settling in? Are you going to the fair?”

“That’s all anyone talks about,” said Lissa.

“We don’t have so much going on,” Nina said, looking mildly wistful for a moment. Then her face changed and softened, and Lissa followed her gaze to a tall, sandy-haired man crossing the cobbles with a long stride. In a carrier on his back was a round-eyed baby about six months old, already stretching its arms up in gleeful anticipation of being held by its mother.

“And,” she said, “the babies up here are very ginger.”

She kissed the man and picked up the wriggling infant as his dad unbuckled the sling.

“Hello, John,” she said, rubbing the baby’s tummy. “How’s my best little man?”

“He tried to eat some straw,” the man reported.

“Good sign,” said Nina. “Moving on from dung. Lennox, this is . . .”