“I’ll do it for you when I’ve finished my other jobs,” grumbled Alfred with all the resignation of a disappointed father.

“Oh, Alfred, would you? That would be marvelous. I’ll see if I can get some new fence posts.”

“No need.” Alfred cut her off. “I’ll get the wood. I know what’s needed. You’ll probably get all the wrong stuff.”

Annie’s feminist feathers ruffled, but she conceded that he was probably right. What did she know about fences?

“Someone owes me a favor anyway,” Alfred went on. “I’ll get better wood from him than that rubbish they sell in the DIY shops.”

Annie wondered what Alfred could have done to be owed such a big favor, but then she reasoned that Alfred used a different currency than most; she wondered, again, how this lifestyle translated in the city. And then she remembered that he would be gone soon and felt a niggle of worry for him, sleeping out on the streets in the cold, with all the dangers that sleeping rough presented.

The fireworks weren’t half bad. There were a couple of duds, which fizzed and died before they’d begun, drawing jeers and claps from the revelers. But other than that, all the crowd-pleasers were present and correct. The darkness spangled and glittered with lights so bright they left blobs before Annie’s eyes as she watched with Lennox and Esme—who were frightened by the noise—through the windows.

Maeve strode in midway through the display, rubbing her hands together against the cold.

“I hope Podrick’s all right,” she said. “I’ve left him sedated with my daughter. Last year was like the Hound of the bloody Baskervilles in my kitchen with him howling all night.” She turned and saw Alfred. “Ah, just the man! I’ve got a leaking tap I’d like you to have a look at when you get the time. I’ve changed the washer and tightened it all up, but it’s still leaking. Think it’s a two-man job. Would appreciate your help.”

“I’ll come up tomorrow morning,” said Alfred.

“Need a lift?”

“No thanks. I’ll catch one up with Fred.”

“Good man,” Maeve boomed. “The usual okay for breakfast?”

“You still got that extra-thick bacon?” asked Alfred.

“Absolutely. Can’t do without it.”

Alfred nodded approvingly and said no more; the deal, it seemed, was struck.

“Mind if I help myself to another soup?” Maeve had turned her attention back to Annie. “No, no. Don’t get up, I can do it. I’ll pop the cash straight into the till.”

—

As expected, the café filled back up the moment the last firework had fizzled down into the sea. Even with the prep Annie had put in earlier, there was no way she could keep up.

“Maeve, you couldn’t jump on the till for half an hour, could you?” Annie called.