Oh dear, did that make her sound desperate? Frivolous? She bit her lip while she read it all back through, trying to imagine what his wife would think, if she saw it. Maybe it was a bit flirty, on second thoughts. She deleted the whole paragraph, not wanting to give the wrong impression.

Then a thought occurred to her. Now that they were Facebook friends, she should be able to see his profile and timeline anyway. Leaving her message as a draft, she clicked on his image and his details came up, along with a gorgeous big photo of him, handsome and smiling, with a small child perched on his shoulders.

Let’s have a look then, she thought, scanning busily for details. He was living in Nottingham these days, she read – so that answered the Bournemouth question, although he’d left several comments about ‘The Cherries’, which was the nickname for the Bournemouth football club, so clearly he hadn’t abandoned his roots completely. What else? A nice picture of a grandson graduating, with Tom looking proud to bursting beside him, one hand clapping the young man’s shoulder. Some pictures from last Christmas: various excited-looking small children in a living room with a big tree all lit up. Photos of a black Labrador in woodland. Somebody – his daughter, maybe? – celebrating her fortieth birthday. No sign of a wife, though, thought Alison, her interest piqued as she scrolled further down. And further. And further still. No sign of a wife at all. Which was interesting.

She went back to her half-written message and read it all through once more. Then she added:

I would love to know how you are, and what you’ve been up to all these years. And if you’re ever up in Harrogate, do come and say hello!

Love Alison

There, that would do. She pressed Send before she was tempted to tinker any more and sat there, a smile spreading on her face as she thought about him reading her message, a hundred miles or so away. Tom Naylor, eh? Tom Naylor! Was life about to take an interesting turn? she wondered, going to pour herself a drink. If Tom Naylor was involved, she really hoped so.

Across in York, Bunny-also-known-as-Rachel was feeling as if she too might finally be emerging from under a dark cloud, with the possibility of sunlit uplands straight ahead. Ever since she’d come out of hospital, patched up, recovered and with a socking great engagement ring sparkling on her left hand, she’d felt a different woman. Safe. Accepted. No more pretending. No more secrets. There was a whole new spring in her step.