‘Joan says that she’ll stop hiding your stinking tobacco when you stop living like a filthy pig and wash the net curtains at the sitting-room window. And she wants you to stop smoking your pipe in the house. She says that’s what your bloody shed is for.’

‘It’s not like he uses it for anything else,’ Joan grumbled. Imelda could see her standing behind Ernest with her hands on her hips. ‘He’s no gardener – he wouldn’t know a daff from a dandelion. And as for DIY – he’s never so much as changed a light bulb. And he needn’t think I didn’t know about those mucky magazines he kept in there. Health and Efficiency my—’

‘Perhaps if you just gave the curtains a quick wash and opened the window when you lit your pipe?’ Imelda’s suggested compromise was not well received by either party.

‘Those nets need a damn good boil wash, and when I say outside, I mean outside!’ Joan was not to be swayed.

‘I won’t be dictated to by a dead woman! It’s my house and I’ll smoke where I like.’

Imelda was pretty sure that he wouldn’t. Not if he wanted a quiet life.

Once Ernest had paid and left (and promised to return in a couple of weeks), Grisha leapt from the blanket where he had been snoozing, hoping for a walk. Imelda opened the door a crack and peered out. It was raining heavily, and on the distant horizon the sky and sea were almost indistinguishable from one another. Grisha tentatively poked his nose outside, only to have it battered by a barrage of raindrops. He swiftly retreated to his blanket where he lay down with an exaggerated sigh. Imelda followed him and knelt beside him. He had been her constant companion since she had rescued him from a life on the streets, and never before had she loved a living creature so easily and utterly. She took his head in her hands and kissed his wet nose.

‘Never mind, my boy. We’ll go later. How about I fetch you a sausage roll from the café?’

Grisha gently wagged his tail. Maybe the rain wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

_______________________

Next door to Imelda’s booth, the café was heaving with both regular customers and day-trippers taking shelter from the inclement weather. The holiday season was over now, but coach trips and tourists kept coming for most of the year. The café was owned and run by Ruby Campbell’s sister and brother-in-law, Diamond and Jack, and Ruby was sitting at the counter drinking coffee and sharing the gossip from Larkins Holiday Park, where she worked as assistant to the newly appointed general manager.

‘It seems like a daft time to appoint a new manager right at the end of the season,’ said Jack as he drained some more chips from the fryer.