I drew up, my heart deflating at the prospect of the once bustling office being reduced to a silent shell. Even the sign proclaiming The Silver Ness News had been removed from above the door, leaving a boarded-up gap in its place.

I peered in through one of the windows. The walls were bare and there were empty plastic boxes stacked in one corner, presumably for Doug and Frances to begin the painful task of clearing their desks.

It was a quaint little former cottage with a spectacular view, so I had thought it wouldn’t be on the market for very long. However, the local gossip was that the newspaper group were being greedy and Clarity Newspapers were asking a ridiculous amount of money from any potential buyer. If they did sell it, they would make a handsome profit.

Pictures drizzled through my mind of me, Doug, and Frances laughing, rattling off copy and debating who deserved the front-page splash that week.

A longing tugged in my chest. It seemed like an eternity ago now.

Goddess was so clinical in comparison, with its starched white minimalist furniture and staff swathed in designer labels.

Guilt nibbled at me. I was grateful to have another job. Of course, I was. Especially in my beloved field of journalism. But I missed the familiarity and cosiness of my local newspaper and the warm, easy camaraderie between the three of us.

Harley and I moved further along the promenade of shops, their lit doorways throwing pools of warm amber light onto the pavement. We soon reached the newsagents on the corner.

Sitting outside on the pavement was a billboard proclaiming:

FIRST ISSUE OF THE NEW DRUMMOND &

SILVER NESS SENTINEL – BUY NOW!

I hesitated, staring at the headline screaming back at me. It just confirmed that times move on and everything changes.

I hovered for a moment, deliberating whether to buy a copy, when my inquisitiveness won out.

I leant into the doorway of Mrs Bradshaw’s newsagent’s, ducking out of the way of a couple of beach balls and a display of postcards which she was in the process of bringing back inside for the night as she prepared to close.

She rolled up a copy and handed it to me. She clinked the change into her till. “I bet it’s nothing like The Silver Ness News,” she sniffed. “I bet it’s all gossip columns and half-naked models.”

I pressed my lips together, stifling a smile. “I think you’re getting a bit mixed up with a couple of the tabloids, Mrs Bradshaw.”

She sniffed again. “I used to love your paper.” She leant against her counter. “Old Andy from the garden centre has read it and he says it’s all arty-farty pictures and encouraging readers to get involved with things online.” She let out a disgruntled sigh. “Do I look like the type of person who has a TikTok account?”