From her table, Cara watches them. It might be she and Joe sitting there, happy, excited, enjoying each other, and she is filled with foreboding. She can find no reason for it, no explanation, apart from that odd resemblance between Cosmo and Joe. There is no reason why two attractive young people shouldn’t enjoy being together, except that she can tell from their body language that this is no casual meeting. Cosmo may think that he’s looking relaxed, at ease, but there is a tenseness in his frame, a constant tapping of one foot; he is fizzing with energy. The girl seems calmer – she is able to be busy with her knife and fork – but she is aware of him, totally focused on him. There is no sign of intimacy – no display of affection – only an obvious physical attraction. Cara tries to be detached, yet she has this odd sense of impending trouble.

Before she can analyse it further, the door opens and Max comes in. To Cara’s surprise he smiles at the girl, who waves and calls a greeting to him, before he goes to order at the counter and then comes to sit at Cara’s table.

‘So who is she?’ she asks him. ‘The pretty girl with Cosmo.’

‘With whom?’ Max glances back over his shoulder.

‘That’s Cosmo,’ Cara says lightly, hoping to rid herself of her fears by talking naturally about him. ‘He’s dog-sitting, apparently. He’s only been here a few weeks but he seems to have made a friend.’

‘Well, the girl is Amy. She’s Jack Hannaford’s daughter. You met him at quiz night. They work together, painting and decorating.’

Cara rather liked Jack Hannaford. There was a positivity about him: good humour, confidence. He’d headed his team, they’d beaten the visitors and his delight was palpable. Cara was amused by his unashamed pleasure in victory and said so when he joined her and Max for a drink afterwards.

‘Ah, they’re old foes of ours,’ he said, picking up his pint. ‘Can’t afford to give ’em an inch.’

Cara looks again at Amy. ‘She’s not like her father,’ she says, thinking of the tall, fair man, blue-eyed, tanned, tough-looking.

‘Amy’s like her mum,’ says Max. ‘She died when Amy was a teenager. I told you.’

‘Yes,’ answers Cara, remembering the sad story. ‘How awful for them all.’ She watches Amy responding to Cosmo’s charm and once again she feels that little frisson of apprehension. Then Max’s coffee arrives and he’s leaning forward, talking again.

‘I’ve had a call from Sam,’ he’s saying. ‘He’s asking if he can come and stay for a few days and I’m wondering how you’d feel about that.’

‘Sam?’ she queries, frowning in puzzlement. ‘Sorry. Who’s Sam?’

‘Sam Chadwick. Actually, you might not remember him. He’s my godson. His father and I were oppos way back.’