She walked the short distance home on wobbly legs, in a haze of tiredness – she’d almost fallen asleep during the meditation at the end of the session. A gentle hand on her arm as she reached the corner barely registered, until she turned to find Jared beside her. She pulled her arm away, looking right and left to check they were not being watched. But no one was around.

‘Can we talk?’ he asked, his expression anxious.

‘No,’ she snapped, turning to go.

‘Please, Connie. I never see you alone. Will you meet me somewhere?’ His voice was low and pleading.

Spotting a couple she knew quite well getting out of their Jaguar across the road, she was desperate to get rid of him. ‘Shotgun Inn, eleven thirty,’ she said reluctantly.

I don’t need to go, she told herself. But, as she plastered a smile on her face and walked across to greet her friends, she decided she would meet him. It was worth giving it one more shot. If Lynne was right and he was a stalker, it wouldn’t work. She had to try, nevertheless. The pub she’d chosen was down-at-heel, hidden in a small hamlet off the Cheddar road. No one would be there at this time of the morning – no one she knew, anyway.

What would I do without Tesco? she thought, as she collected the supermarket bags and waved to Devan – contentedly ensconced with his crossword and Classic FM in the sitting room, Riley snoozing at his feet. He was like a different man since his recruitment to the new hospice. Connie no longer detected the lost, dissatisfied look in his eyes. He met up with Sylvie once a week now, often talked with her over the phone. The plan for opening was coming together nicely, according to Devan.

It was still raining as she pulled up on the tarmacked pub forecourt of the low brick building. The only other car was Jared’s black Golf. She took a deep breath.

He was sitting by the window, the gloomy interior stuffy, smelling of stale fat and furniture polish. He got up as she approached. ‘Coffee?’

She nodded, sat down on a wheelback chair with a stained red cushion tied to the spokes.

‘Nice place.’ Jared raised a wry eyebrow as he set the two mugs of white coffee on the table. ‘Don’t run to lattes, I’m afraid.’

She stared at him. He didn’t look quite his usual nonchalant self. Something about his eyes implied stress.

‘I’m not here to be friends, Jared,’ she said peremptorily.

He looked surprised at her tone. ‘I just wanted to check on you, Connie. I mean, Devan is such a great guy. Our day with mad Torsten was hilarious. But now he’s asked me for supper tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure you’re OK with that.’