Annie ran her gaze over the coffee machine and switched it on, just to see. The machine whirred satisfyingly into life, and Annie busied herself looking for the bags of coffee Mari said she had left.

“Are you open?”

Annie jumped up from beneath the counter to find a man and woman, about her age, looking in at her.

“Oh,” said Annie. “Um. Yes. Yes, why not!”

“Oh, fantastic!” said the woman. “I’ll have a mocha and, Aiden?” She turned her rosy makeup-free face up to meet his. “Latte?” she asked.

The man smiled at her. “Lovely,” he said.

“Right you are,” said Annie. She’d found the unopened bag of coffee beans and a tub of hot chocolate, but milk was going to be an issue. In the corner by the marshmallows, she spotted a multipack of long-life barista oat milks.

“I don’t have any fresh milk at the moment,” said Annie. “How do you feel about oat milk?”

“Fine with us,” said Aiden. “Our daughter is dairy intolerant, so we’re no stranger to the crazy milks!”

“You must be Annie,” said the woman. “I’m Raye and this is Aiden. Pam’s told us all about you. We’re the landlords of the Captain’s Bounty.”

“I hope you’ll be visiting us soon,” said Aiden jovially. “We’ll be jealous if you don’t!”

“Actually, I’m coming for dinner on Saturday,” said Annie.

“Oh, fabulous!” said Raye. “You must leave room for Aiden’s tiramisu; it really is something.”

Aiden and Raye looked more like they should be reading runes and selling dream-catchers than running a pub. Raye wore her sandy hair in long dreadlocks and her green Dr. Martens boots peeped out from beneath her striped Alibaba trousers. Aiden’s pale skin was striking against a backdrop of dark brown corkscrew curly hair—Annie wondered if their heads stuck together like Velcro in bed—and he was dressed in faded black skinny jeans and a rainbow Baja hoodie. They could have come straight from the Glastonbury Festival.

Annie tipped the beans into the grinder, answering questions over the subsequent noise about where she’d come from and what had brought her here.

“Crikey!” said Raye. “I hope our homespun pub grub won’t be too much of a come-down. Pam didn’t mention you were a chef.”

“If the smell of your Sunday roast is anything to go by, I should be in for a treat,” said Annie as she riffled around for cardboard takeaway cups and rinsed the metal milk jug out.

“Will you be open all season?” Raye asked.

“I didn’t know I was going to be open now.” Annie laughed. “You might be my first and only customers!”

“Oh, I wish you would!” said Raye. “It would be great to be able to get a decent coffee after a wintry walk. We come down here to blow the cobwebs away between opening times.”