Swallowing back a sob, Bunny tried to control her emotions, remembering that she needed to be back at work in half an hour, and that her customers did not want to see a blotchy face and red eyes when being served. But the strength had gone out of her, the willpower too, and so it was that she found herself trudging back towards the bakery, as if it was drawing her magnetically closer and she was powerless to resist. And yes, then she was buying a warm sausage roll and an oozy square of millionaire’s shortbread for her lunch, just like Rachel used to do after a bad day, when she too had felt low and weakened. Who cared about calories? What was the point of trying to stay in shape when your past was tapping on your shoulder, catching you up?

Once back in the small staffroom above the café, she tucked into her diet-busting lunch, doing her best to savour each mouthful rather than shovel it down, like she wanted to. Bloody hell, it all tasted amazing. Bakery treats made her feel a million times better than a box of quinoa and grated carrot – just like the family-sized slabs of Dairy Milk and the huge cheesy pizzas always had done in the past. The very realization of this was enough to stop her short, though, and then her eyes jerked wide open again.

Was this another sign that her new life was slipping away from her? The dwindling willpower. The longing for something tasty, just to help her through the day. It was all horribly familiar. She mustn’t let herself get drawn into that downward spiral again, she thought, brushing pastry flakes from her skirt and scrunching up the empty paper bag. She mustn’t. Because she was stronger than that now, wasn’t she?

‘Bunny? Are you there? We’re getting busy again downstairs,’ came the voice of Jasmine just then.

‘Coming,’ called Bunny, throwing the crumpled bag into the bin. No more bakery binges, she told herself sternly. No more weeping in public. Rachel was gone – and good riddance to her. Bunny was absolutely not about to let her back.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Meanwhile, in Madeira, Jeanie was keeping a low profile. It was Monday evening now, almost forty-eight hours since the incident with Luis and she had barely left her bed in all that time. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to face the world again, in fact. Because boy, oh boy, had she made a fool of herself. A right royal fool.