‘Sorry, Lolly,’ I said, pulling my gaze away from the stranger and following you into the café. Your huge brown eyes lit up when Melissa handed you the hot chocolate in a white polystyrene cup, whipped cream swirled on top. I laughed and told you that you’d never manage it all. Then we stood just outside the café, fingers curled around our warm cups, you licking the cream off the top of the hot chocolate and me searching for her among the knot of people gathered by the Christmas tree. I could see her moving through the crowd, her shoulders hunched against the cold, her eyes darting about as though afraid. She looked like a hunted animal. Was that how I’d looked when I came to the village three years ago, pregnant with you and desperate for a new start?

‘Hold on a sec, sweetheart. I just want a quick word with Melissa.’

I let go of your hand to step inside the café. Melissa Brown was a large woman with a greying bob, parted in the middle and pinned at the sides, somewhere in her forties, old-fashioned in both her outlook and appearance. She had never been married and had lived in Beggars Nook all her life. As a result she knew everything about everyone. Well, mostly everyone. I knew she thought of me as an enigma because she’d said it to me on many occasions. Dear Rose, usually said when my hands were clamped between her large, clammy ones. You’re such an enigma. This was often uttered after I’d avoided one of her many questions. But she had always been kind to me and had tried to involve me in village life.

The café was quiet. Most people were still gathered by the market cross or perusing the stalls filled with colourful tinsel and garish decorations. You’d already persuaded me to buy one: a little gold fairy to put on top of the tree.

‘Melissa,’ I said, lowering my voice even though it was just me and her in the café. ‘You don’t know who that woman is, do you? The thin one in the crocheted hat?’

Melissa wiped her hands on her flowery apron and stared in the woman’s direction. She shook her head. ‘Never seen her before. She could be from the next village. Oh, and before I forget, Nancy said someone was interested in the ad you put up in her window. You know, for the lodger?’

Nancy worked in the local shop and was Melissa’s younger sister. I’d kept the advert vague on purpose, asking Nancy to take details of any interested parties so that I could get in touch with them, rather than give out my own information. I didn’t even put my name on it. I couldn’t risk it.

‘That’s great.’ I already knew that if a man had enquired I’d never get in touch.