Surrounding her were a couple of officious-looking local councillors and a few other Silver Ness business owners, whose names were reeled off from left to right. I focused harder on the black and white photograph. Mrs Cruickshank was clutching a couple of loaves in the middle of the semi-circle and she was looking intent. There was a smooth, youthful lightness to her features, her long, thick hair swinging down her back.

I switched my attention to the background. It took me a moment to realise that Lily’s Loaves, with its striped awning, was now the handbag shop Bags of Style. I thought it looked familiar.

My mind returned to the memory of Lily Cruickshank’s hands as she stood on her doorstep, freckled and doused in flour. Of course! She must still be keeping up her bread-making.

I started to read the accompanying article.

Silver Ness is welcoming a new business into its community, with the launch of a bakery and café in the main street. Lily Cruickshank (26) who is from Perth, trained as a baker under the tutelage of the renowned pastry and bread chef Archibald Strang and worked for him at his bakery, Golden. Mrs Cruickshank, formerly known as Lily Bruce, married local man Bernard Cruickshank and the couple are now settling into their new home on the outskirts of Drummond. She said of her new venture, “Baking bread is one of life’s pleasures for me and being able to open my own business, doing what I love, is a dream come true. I feel I have learnt so much whilst working at Golden and from the legendary Mr Strang.” She added, “Hopefully I can bring a slice of something warm and delicious to the people of Silver Ness!” Lily’s Loaves will open officially on July 6th at 10am.

I studied the photograph of younger Lily again, all big, hopeful eyes and enthusiasm shining out of them.

I decided to ask Mum and Dad about Lily Cruickshank and her bakery. They might remember her or know a little about her.

While I was speculating about whether they might recall anything about her or about her past business, my inbox pinged.

Harley pushed herself down beside my leg in the kitchen and nuzzled against me. I brushed the top of her head with my fingers, stroking and rubbing the soft downy curls.

I clicked onto my emails on my laptop, half expecting a discount on my favourite shampoo or another offer on the installation of loft insulation.

But it wasn’t. It was from Goddess magazine, marked Confidential.

I made a weird nose – a cross between a gasp and a snort – and scrambled for my mouse. Oh God. It must be about my job application. Was it a no? A polite decline?