Another first. Normally Flora didn’t like anyone getting that near, except for her family. When her mum and grandad were alive, she was always seeking out hugs of reassurance and safety, but never from anyone else. But now there was some invisible force drawing her hand to Mack’s. It was so strange.

They walked onto the large square which was dominated at one end by the City Chambers and the war memorial. It was landscaped with grass, which people loved to lie back on in the summer, and was surrounded by Georgian and Victorian town houses.

“Do you want to take a seat? Just for a few minutes? I know it’s cold,” Mack said.

Flora wondered if Mack was going to talk about that night, and her excitement turned into worry. “If you like. I don’t mind the cold as long as I’m well wrapped up.”

They sat on a bench facing the City Chambers. Directly in front of them was the war memorial guarded by two recumbent stone lions, a famous and well-loved feature of the square. Dexter sniffed around the bench, always busy with other dogs’ scents.

The tension was palpable for Flora. She had to steer the conversation away from anything that would make her uncomfortable. The urge to perform her OCD rituals was so strong and they would be hard to do discreetly.

Just as Mack was about open her mouth to talk, Flora launched in to a babble of words to stop any uncomfortable questions.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it? Beautiful architecture and flower beds, a lovely place to sit in the middle of a busy city.”

“Yeah—”

Mack tried to respond but Flora didn’t let her. “Did you know the square was named after King George III? And the streets around the square, Queen Street after his wife Queen Charlotte, and Hanover Street, for the German Hanover kings?”

“No I didn’t know—”

Again she cut Mack off. “The grand Georgian buildings all around the square were houses for the rich families who lived here. Can you imagine how that must have seemed to the poor folk, to see people with so much? William Young, the famous architect, designed the City Chambers and it was built in—”

Mack looked at her with a grin and a raised eyebrow. She closed her eyes in embarrassment and said, “I’m sorry. I’m babbling, aren’t I? I do that when I’m nervous. I’m a history and facts buff, and it just pours out sometimes.”

“I like listening to you, but why are you nervous? It’s just me,” Mack said.

How could she explain the millions of worries that ran through her mind at any one time?

“I don’t usually do this sort of thing, going for a walk with someone.”

“But you can talk to me—you have been, every day in the shop.”