‘It’s fine. I’m in no real rush. See to Bindi first. I’d offer to hold her but I’m not sure that would go down well.’

‘Thanks.’ Jedda laughed. ‘She used to go to anyone, but she’s been super clingy lately. I don’t know what’s come over her.’

‘How old is she?’

‘Twenty-one months.’

I nodded. ‘Is she teething? My youngest was shocking when she got her molars.’

‘Maybe that’s it, but I sure hope it doesn’t last long. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

‘Does she usually stay in the cafe while you work?’ I doubted Ragged Point was big enough to have a day care centre.

‘Not all day.’ Jedda exhaled and shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t complain really. She’s mostly pretty good. We’re closed Mondays and I’m only here to open and close and cover the lunch rush other days. My wonderful staff hold the fort between times when I take Bindi upstairs or down to the park to play.’

It probably wasn’t my place to pry, but the words just came out. ‘Does her father not help you much?’

‘She’s a sperm donor baby,’ Jedda said as she filled a bottle with milk, all the while still holding her wriggling toddler.

‘Oh.’ I wasn’t sure I actually knew anyone who’d had a baby on their own this way.

‘All I know about her father is that he was born in Ireland—I’ve always loved blokes with Irish accents—he was thirty-five years old, had a clean bill of health and a degree in philosophy. I like them smart as well. Folks round here thought I was crazy with a business and no family to speak of to help, but I hit forty and got tired of waiting for someone else to help me fulfil my dream of being a mother. I don’t regret it, best damn thing I ever did, aren’t you, darling?’ She kissed Bindi on the forehead as she handed her the bottle. ‘I’m sorry, Ashling, you just caught us on a bad day.’

‘Don’t apologise—I think you’re amazing. This place is great, Bindi’s adorable, and I read your paper last night and it was fabulous too. Were you ever a journalist?’

‘No, I could barely spell in high school. I started the paper simply because I saw a need.’

‘Ah, I see.’ I nodded. ‘Well, I think you’re a great writer anyway. I actually did a degree in journalism myself, but I’ve never used it.’

‘Pity you’re not sticking around then. I could use a right-hand woman,’ Jedda said as she attempted once again to lower Bindi into the playpen. This time, clutching her bottle tightly in her chubby little hands, the teat trapped between her lips, she settled.

The bell above the door dinged again and two men wearing big grey jackets, navy work trousers and black boots entered. ‘Morning Jed,’ they said in unison.

‘Hey Baz, hey Tony,’ Jedda said. ‘The usual?’

‘You know it, gorgeous,’ replied the taller of the two with a wink.