Lorcan nodded. He did not banter back and forth. He did not ask where she worked, or where she lived. He did not ask who she was making the sandwiches for. He simply rang up her order, took her money and handed over her change. He did at least say thank you, even if there was a begrudging tone to it.

‘Well, at least you’ve had a welcome to the street you’re not likely to forget,’ she said as she left.

The expression on Lorcan’s face said it all. He was not amused. Not one bit. In fact, his expression was so sour that Jo wondered how on earth he shared any of the same genetic make-up at all as Harry – the very lifeblood of their community.

She mulled that over as she walked back up the street to the pub and Noah’s flat, where both he and Libby were now awake and looking as if their very future existence relied on a bacon sandwich, stat.

‘I’m on it,’ she told them before she regaled them with the news about Lorcan, the intruder who wasn’t an intruder, the broken light bulb and his total sense-of-humour failure. ‘For a moment, I thought he was actually quite good-looking but that was before he’d opened his mouth,’ she said. ‘It all went south from there.’

8

While You Were Sleeping

Jo got home just after nine that evening. She planned to go straight to her room, switch on her laptop and email her manuscript to Libby before she had the chance to change her mind. She wouldn’t even have a quick read of any of it first, she would just open her email, attach the file and press send.

But when she went upstairs to her room, she found Clara, fast asleep and curled into a little ball in the middle of her double bed, her red curls splayed on the white pillow. Her skin pale against the moonlight shining in the window, and her lips were pursed in a little pout. Jo wondered what filled Clara’s dreams. Did she play out the scenes from her favourite books or films? Did she imagine she was Princess Buttercup and her Westley was coming to rescue her?

Jo’s heart was filled with love for her and she wondered if it was a good thing she would have to move out of her flat permanently. It would be hard to imagine living somewhere where Clara didn’t occasionally sneak under the covers for comfort.

Jo startled when she heard her mother behind her. She had just come out of the bath and was wrapped in a towel, another, turban-like, on her head. She looked exhausted and immediately Jo’s protectiveness of her kicked in.

‘Everything okay?’ Jo whispered.