In some ways Simon Blacklock seemed like someone from another century, with his friendly, open face, his interest in everything, even his battered tweed jacket and winding scarf. He was decidedly old-fashioned, and Olivia liked that about him.

“Put your PIN in please,” she said, and pushed the reader towards him, averting her eyes while he pressed the numbers on the keypad.

He pushed it back towards her with a smile, and Olivia gave him his card back. She had a strange, almost panicky sense not to let him simply walk out the door, out of her life.

“Enjoy your cupcake,” she blurted a little too fast. “And see you...again?” She cringed a little inwardly at how hopeful and eager she sounded.

“Yes, definitely.” He hoisted the box. “I can’t wait to try out some more flavours.” And with one last whimsical smile, he was gone, the bells jingling as he shut the door behind him.

Chapter Two

Olivia prowled around her flat later that evening, feeling unusually restless. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon finishing her shopping list and organising her storage area, hauling three boxes of Christmas decorations from the loft, without a single other person coming through the door.

At five o’clock she locked up the shop and headed upstairs to the flat she’d shared with her mum until two months ago, when Tina James had moved to a retired living housing development twenty minutes away in Witney. It still felt strange to be here alone, although Olivia had lived alone for fifteen years in London, in a shoebox-sized flat in Hackney.

Still, this place felt irrevocably her mum’s; it was a poky little place, but not without its charm: two tiny bedrooms, a sitting room with views over the river and a tiny, cast-iron fireplace, a galley kitchen, and a bathroom that you could just about squeeze into. Olivia joked about being able to use the toilet, shower, and sink all at the same time, although she’d yet to accomplish that feat.

She and her mum had been constantly tripping over each other when they’d shared the small space, but it still seemed rather ridiculously big and empty without her there. After making a mug of instant noodles—hardly the most nutritious of suppers, but Olivia had never bothered with cooking for one—she collapsed onto the sofa, planning on an evening of Channel Four reality TV. Dr Jekyll, deciding to be friendly for once, leapt into her lap, making Olivia let out a startled oof. The cat really was enormous, and you never knew whether he was going to purr or unsheathe his claws, hence the name.

Olivia stroked him as she clicked the remote. Normally, after a day of work that had begun just before five a.m., she was grateful to sink into the sofa and watch some mindless telly. Tonight, for some reason, the prospect felt the teeniest, tiniest bit...well, depressing.