I shifted slightly on the seat to rearrange the pain in my stomach and waited.

“Your stop, lady.”

My stop was Cross Road, Biggar, in front of a group of stone-fronted shops and a post office, which declared on a handwritten sign that it also sold shortbread. It also just happened to be the Goth girl’s stop, and she told me I’d need to get the local taxi to take me the rest of the ten-minute drive to Quothquan, unless I fancied a five-mile walk. I didn’t. My new friend took me into the post office and shortbread shop to introduce me to the postmistress, who said she’d be more than happy to ring for said taxi, the driver of which just happened to be her husband.

After a brief exchange on the phone she confirmed Dicky would be with me just as soon as Bargain Hunt finished in five minutes. I wandered outside to wait patiently, because, despite the thought of Leonard twiddling his thumbs on the side of the road trying to remember his own name, who was I to come between someone and their telly?

To be honest, I was also all of a sudden very much in need of a moment to catch my breath, because that bus trip seemed to have loosened more than a couple of tear-duct valves. Deep down in the pit of my guts, the nagging pain that had previously been concentrated around my scar was rapidly morphing into something altogether else as a web of cramps encompassed my entire stomach. I could feel a warm layer of sweat gathering on my back and a very strange sensation like searing-hot liquid was seeping in and filling up the spaces between my organs. I wondered if the postmistress might by chance serve a side of medical attention with her stamps and shortbread.

I lowered myself carefully down onto the wooden bench outside the post office, leaned my head back and closed my eyes, doing my best to make out I was just enjoying a bit of sun on my face. One, two, three, breathe. It’ll pass. I tried to imagine I was back in Penzance, trundling along in the bus on my way to Pearl’s to spend another interminable day at my meaningless job, where the only questions I got were about spare parts and overdue invoices and the only memories I had to face were about where I might have left my pen. One, two, three, breathe.

I’d rather hoped that, kind as she’d been, the girl and her dog might have just ambled away out of my life, but they were clearly intent on seeing the job through. When the wave of pain eased off to take another run-up, I opened my eyes and she was crouched on her haunches in front of me, arms wrapped around her knees, eye line locked and loaded.

“See, the thing is, and don’t freak out when I say this, lady, but I’ve been thinking and I reckon I know what the problem is.”