Oh, for the love of God, woman! Just finish the text already! she berated herself. She put nite nite back into the message and pressed send before she could change her mind again.

Sleep tight! J. came the reply.

Just one more thing . . . Annie messaged.

Yes??

If you could only listen to one song for the rest of your life, what would it be?

The response was almost immediate. Spice Girls, “Wannabe.” Obviously!

Annie laughed out loud. She was still erupting into little guffaws as she settled herself down under a blanket to watch an old Hammer Horror on TV: Dracula: Prince of Darkness, starring Christopher Lee as Dracula, nibbling on the necks of prim ladies with jaunty hats and plummy accents. What better way to finish off a perfect Halloween.

Chapter 56

The next morning, it was pouring with rain outside, and her customers were primarily those for whom nothing will come between them and their constitutionals. A couple squeaked their way to the bench by the window and shrugged out of their hardy outerwear.

Annie’s phone buzzed with a text. It was from John: a photo of Mari, laughing from beneath a woolen hat and shrouded in many layers, as she sat outside a café in bright sunshine, holding up a coffee cup. Behind her, the view fell away down to the sea and little fishing boats bobbing on the water. Just at the edges of the picture was a slender hand with black nail varnish, resting lightly on a packet of cigarettes. This, Annie surmised, must be Celeste. The caption read: Just so you know I haven’t locked her away in a nursing home.

Annie smiled. She went to the kiosk and hung out the window far enough to be able to snap a picture of the lashing rain and the muddy brown sea beneath a gunmetal sky. She sent the photograph with the caption: Bet you wish you were here! And then followed it quickly with: What crazy time of the morning did you leave to be sipping coffee in Cornwall by 11 a.m.?

He messaged back: 5 a.m. Couldn’t sleep.

Where do you actually live? Annie asked.

Why? Do you want to send me anthrax in the post?

I was thinking more horse’s head in your bed!

Classic. I live in London, Clapham.

And what exactly is your profession in Clapham?

I’m an architect.

As an architect, aren’t you supposed to love buildings?

I know what you’re getting at. I’ve been made an offer I can’t refuse.

Can’t or won’t.

Do you have a better solution?

She didn’t so she messaged: Say hello to Mari for me.

Will do.

It was all rather exhilarating, this dance of words, and Annie found herself working with a distinct spring in her step, despite the dismal weather and the constant mopping up after dripping umbrellas and waterproof coats.