“Tell him to pay it forward for someone else, then.”

Jem paused at the exit to shoulder her rucksack and zip her coat. She’d have to phone for a taxi, but she preferred to wait outside, where the air was cooler and didn’t smell of body odour and soggy chips. Perched on the car park wall, she fished out her mobile as it vibrated with a text. Before she’d even read the message, her excuses were piling up on each other: I twisted my ankle and I think it needs an X-ray, chickpeas make me sneeze, my cat’s stuck up a tree…

The last one set her off laughing, and she opened WhatsApp fully prepared to deal with Sylvie having a strop. Instead, she found a message from Rosie. In Manchester, but I can still fabricate feline shenanigans if you need me to.

Jem hovered over the reply pane, her heels thrumming against the bricks. The main bus route into Manchester was only a five-minute walk away, she had a few quid left in change, and she really didn’t want to waste her good mood by going home with her tail between her legs.

My date ditched me for a vegan omelette, she typed. Fancy meeting for a brew in town?

The gap that ensued seemed to stretch for hours. A flock of seagulls cackled their disdain overhead, and she was busy googling local taxi firms when a message flashed up. How the fuck do you make a vegan omelette?

She snorted, scaring one of the gulls. I don’t think I ever want to find out.

Rosie didn’t leave her hanging again. How’s about Northern Soul for a fry up?

The suggestion made Jem’s mouth water. She hadn’t realised how hungry she was until then.

Sounds fabulous. Save me a seat, and I’ll be as quick as I can.

Chapter Nine

The lunchtime rush had long since passed, emptying Northern Soul’s small cafe and giving Rosie a choice of tables. She slid into a corner booth, stowing a bag of second-hand books and a Gabbotts Farm ham shank she’d picked up for her mam. She’d been coming to the cafe for years, in and out of uniform, and the waiter put a latte in front of her without prompting.

“Kash not with you?” he asked.

“Not today. I’m waiting for a friend.”

“Oh aye.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Do you want me to dim the lights?”

She raised her mug and her middle finger, quickly lowering the latter when Jem walked in and hesitated on the welcome mat. The lights were moody enough already, and she was obviously struggling to pick Rosie out of the gloom. Having tracked Rosie’s gaze, the waiter hurried over and returned with Jem on his arm.

“Can I get you a drink, love?” he said, his flat Manc accent somewhat undermining his genteel welcome.