My throat closed tight, sure that Ruth knew; had she spied on us through a gap in Margaritte’s curtains, dabbling with the cards, predicting his arrival? Ruth went back to labelling folders, and I took her phrasing to be accidental, a coincidence.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I really didn’t.’

I tried to match her nonchalance, but my pulse was beating fast beneath my jaw, my blouse was sticking to my chest. Miriam Calder, who knew all and saw all, could surely hear my internal rapture. The Knight of Cups! Here comes my Knight of Cups! She stood over us at the table, steaming mug in hand.

‘Well, Mr Crane usually prefers to hire women, as is clear to see.’ She twisted her neck to assess our stickering system, pass her unspoken judgement. ‘He knows that women will be far more… what’s the word… ?’

‘Malleable,’ said Ruth bleakly.

‘Reliable,’ corrected Miriam.

Ruth looked up at her, with the silent instruction that she could piss off now, but the woman had more tattle to be free of.

‘He arrived with just a single bag, according to Saul Cooper. Just one rucksack – and not a very big one either. What do you make of that?’

‘That he’s a light packer?’ Ruth deadpanned. ‘That he owns a flexible capsule wardrobe?’

‘How old is he?’ I blurted out.

Miriam grinned, validated. ‘Young,’ she replied, ‘and pretty nifty with a Bunsen burner.’

Ruth sighed at my betrayal of our tacit agreement never to encourage Miriam and her chatter.

‘Young?’ I went on. ‘Young, like… ?’

‘Youngish,’ Miriam clarified. ‘Thirty.’

I stared at the folder in my hands, at a loss as to whether it should be labelled green or yellow. A domino run was toppling at speed across my mind: the Knight of Cups has arrived, and now I will fall in love, and now I will know what it feels like, and then I will be married, and then I will conceive at the cottage, and then we will fill a property on the south elevation with children, and…

‘Green,’ Ruth barked. ‘Maths handouts we’re labelling green.’

I pressed a large circular sticker onto the folder, let the action calm me. There was a system to everything, a right order.

‘Oh, you won’t be wanting to get mixed up with him, Miss Cedars,’ Miriam said, turning away, gearing up for one of her enigmatic exits, while I flushed hot, so transparent in my desires. ‘Just one rucksack,’ she repeated ominously. ‘He’s running away from something. You mark my words.’

Friday the 13th – April 2018

FRIDAY THE 13TH – APRIL 2018

You do not accept lifts from strange men. Viola Kendrick knows the rules.