There was a Troutbridge project meeting on Wednesday; a finish date was now in sight, and Alice wanted to brainstorm grand reopening ideas – an autumn party or a barn dance?

Emails from the Centre, about clients and appointments.

A reminder from the board about her interview on Monday 9th.

A referral request from a GP in—

Wait. Tara’s eye skimmed upwards again. Monday 9th? That was tomorrow morning. The interview for the director’s role was in her diary as Monday 16th. Yes, there it was, Monday 16th: interview.

Her heart sped up. Which one was wrong?

Tara scrolled back through her work emails to find the initial interview invitation. There it was, last week.

Thank you for your application for the role of Director of Operations at the Longhampton Wellness Centre. We look forward to discussing the position further with you at 9.30 a.m., Monday 9th August. Please prepare the attached scenarios for exploration with the panel.

Her heart plunged downwards in her chest as if it were in a malfunctioning lift.

Oh God, thought Tara. How did I miss that?

She changed the date on the calendar and immediately got a ping notification.

This event will take place in ten hours.

Ten hours, seven of which she needed for a good night’s sleep.

Oh God, she thought, as she scrolled through the hundred-page scenario attachment and the blood drained from her head. Oh God.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When Tara woke up the following morning, it was still raining.

Everything was dripping with water as she hurried to the car, with her blow-dried hair tucked into a beret. The trees, the patio furniture, the bird table, all dripping. She was starting to get a bad feeling about so much rain.

Tara didn’t take the straight route into Longhampton; she deliberately followed the route she and David sometimes took when they met up at the corner of Coleridge Street and Chaucer Avenue, in case for some inexplicable reason he’d decided to walk and she could give him a lift, but there was no sign of his familiar gabardine mac.

Tara needed David’s calming company this morning. As she drove, flashbacks from the weekend kept sliding sideways into her head when she was trying to memorize the notes she’d made on the interview prep lying open on the passenger seat. Even David’s trademark running commentary about the traces of Roman wall along the road into the centre of town would have been a welcome distraction from the mental image of Mum and Diane locked in a passionate—

‘Just no,’ she said aloud. Then added, ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with same-sex couples,’ in case her mother – or anyone else – could hear her.

Another car hooted at her as she drifted slightly out of her lane, trying to read what she’d written about the ethics of Zoom therapy sessions.