Max’s passive aggression bordered on abusive; even when she was aware of what he was doing, his words would leave her tongue-tied and impotent, like screaming through duct tape. She’d been frustrated for so long that John’s unthreatening, plain-speaking manner seemed to set all her pent-up words free. She knew, somehow, there’d be no repercussions with John. But feeling safe with him didn’t mean she could behave like an arse; in fact, she reasoned, it ought to garner the opposite response. He did still push her buttons, though . . .

“Oh my God!” She raised her hands heavenward in exasperation. “Why is he so annoying?” She was offered no response to her pleas, other than Tiggs regurgitating and waking herself up with a start.

“Serves you right for eating your supper like a pig,” said Annie.

Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle eyed Annie with contempt and settled back down to sleep.

Annie huffed. “Oh, all right,” she said irritably to no one at all. She picked up her phone and texted John.

I’m sorry. I don’t know why I snapped like I did. Well, actually, I do know but it’s too complicated to go into over text. The thing is, my anger wasn’t aimed at you and it was unfair of me to go off like that. I’m sorry that our truce ended. Thank you for helping to make my first ever Halloween party so enjoyable.

In less than a minute her phone pinged.

I’m sorry too. I came off as self-righteous and accusing and that isn’t how I meant that conversation to go at all. I guess the skeletons in both our closets were rattling their bones tonight Of course you care about Alfred. I took my frustrations out on you and that was unfair of me.

Annie read and reread the text. Blimey! she thought. He’s like a real live grown-up! Another text came through hot on the heels of the first.

I’m driving to Cornwall this weekend to visit Mari and Celeste but I’ll be back in Willow Bay on Wednesday to help Paul with the fireworks. Perhaps we can talk again.

Away till Wednesday? Don’t you ever work?

To which he replied: Ha! The benefits of working remotely. I work six days a week but pick my own hours. Can usually be found burning the midnight oil.

“Hmmm,” Annie mused aloud. “A workaholic?” She texted: In that case . . . don’t you ever sleep?

The response was almost immediate: Not enough and lately even less!

Annie desperately wanted to ask why he wasn’t sleeping, but given how quickly their conversations deteriorated, she decided to keep things light.

Well, you’ve got a long drive tomorrow, so hopefully you’ll get some sleep tonight. Nite nite.

She deleted the nite nite and then wrote it back in again three times; was it too cutesy? Too familiar? Too dismissive?