She turned her attention away from random passengers and towards what was going on outside the window, lifting a finger and wiping a little patch of the glass clean. Was that Trafalgar Square looming up at her? Yes, it was. The big stone lions, the fountain, and all those people! This was where she would start her first London adventure. Checking that her compact camera was still safely tucked in her pocket, she jumped up so excitedly that she almost tripped over her own feet, and rang the bell.

Chapter 5

MADI

When Madi woke up, to the sound of a far-off cockerel announcing the morning, it was still dark. She turned over onto her back, her scar sore where she had rolled onto her side in her sleep, and lay for a while, listening to the unfamiliar creaks of the old cottage.

When she was sure she was not going to be able to get back to sleep, she made her way slowly down the stairs, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her against the chill, and went into the kitchen, hoping to find that the cat had returned. The bowl of food she’d left on the floor was empty, so at least the little truant was around somewhere, not run off in disgust at the new living arrangements or trapped in someone’s shed. Well, you heard such stories about animals going missing when an owner moved house or went on holiday, and she’d hate to be the one to have to explain to Prue that she’d let her down and lost the poor little mite.

The water that emerged from the hot tap was, if anything, even colder than the water coming from the cold one and she remembered, too late, about the immersion heater. Oh, well, no bath or shower for her this morning. At least there was a kettle, so she could enjoy her first coffee of the day and make herself some porridge.

Madi ran her hand over her head. With nobody here to see her, and the curtains still closed, she had not bothered wrapping one of her many coloured scarves around it this morning or resorted to hiding beneath that nasty, itchy wig. Her fingers played with the short stubbly covering of new hair that was starting to emerge and she couldn’t help wondering what colour it would turn out to be. It had been a very long time since she had last seen her natural chestnut colour, having veered between various reds and browns and even the occasional blonde over the years, depending on changing fashions or her mood or what role she was playing at the time. At sixty-two, the chances were that it would end up grey, of course. Or, at best, a sophisticated shade of silver. Still, having hair back at all was a relief, and there was always the dye bottle to fall back on again if what nature decided to provide needed a helping hand.

As she sat at the kitchen table, a clack of plastic at floor level alerted her to the return of the missing cat.