‘I just came to pick Jack up and thought I’d see if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight,’ Mandy said, swanning past Nicole towards the kitchen.

‘Oh, no, I couldn’t intrude.’ Nicole trailed after her, her mind racing to find a plausible excuse.

‘Nonsense. What’s one more mouth? Or two.’ She looked to Danny sitting at the dining table. ‘Even better.’

‘That’s very kind, but …’ Think, Nicole, think.

‘Unless you have something already prepared?’ Mandy raised an eyebrow.

Nicole thought about the toast and jam she’d planned on having. ‘Well, no. I don’t.’ She shook her head.

Danny rose from the table and leaned towards her. ‘No point trying to fight her,’ he whispered, and gathered his tools.

‘It’s settled, then!’ Mandy pulled a notebook out of her purse, ripped a page off and scribbled on it. ‘We’ll see you at seven. Here’s my address.’ Then, just as quickly as she’d whirled into the cottage, she was gone again, leaving a stunned Nicole in her wake.

Nicole sat at the heavy wooden table that Mandy’s husband, Trevor, had apparently built many years ago and took the last mouthful of velvety fish pie from her plate. It was the good china, Mandy had said, the wedding Wedgwood that only came out for special guests or occasions. The table was decorated with a crisp white tablecloth and maroon paper napkins. Pink, yellow and white roses, picked fresh from the front garden, adorned the centre of the table.

‘How is everything?’ Mandy asked with the smallest hint of nervousness in her voice.

‘Oh, it’s delicious, thank you.’

It reminded Nicole of her own mum’s fish pie, the one out of the Country Women’s Association cookbook that had been so well used the pages were falling out of their binding. In fact, the whole evening had reminded Nicole of the family dinners she used to enjoy. Mandy had taken control of the conversation, just like her own mum could, and did her best to fill Nicole in on the who’s who around town, including all the local heroes and villains.

It may have been a different town from the one she grew up in, but the tales were the same. The evil local councilman who was always looking for the next big development to put the town on the map, willing to take any kind of kickback to line his own pocket. The resident greenies who chained themselves to the trees just outside of town and rallied the locals to stop said next big development – a resort, of course. The teacher at the small school whose dedication had seen more than one Year Twelve student make it into a top university degree, though their own personal life was never quite as successful. The florist who always donated her services when someone died as the poor family didn’t need any more grief.