She got goosebumps just thinking about it again, and gave an involuntary shudder.

‘Oh my God,’ Tove groaned beside her, her eyes closed and enjoying the peace as the birds trilled around them. ‘Get a room.’

‘Sorry,’ she whispered.

‘. . . You don’t think you might have made a mistake not getting his number?’

‘Yes. And that’s precisely why I’m glad I didn’t. This way, it just is what it is. One incredible night.’

They heard the pounding of feet, and heavy breathing.

‘You’re back,’ Tove said, still with her eyes closed, as the squeaky gate was opened.

‘Yeah,’ Kris panted, his hands on his hips. He shot an enquiring glance Bell’s way, and she replied with a confiding smile. He winked at her, understanding; it didn’t need to be said. There was a dark arrow of sweat down the front of his top, his hair was pulled into his man-bun, and for the thousandth time she wondered why her soulmate had to be gay. He came over and kissed her on the forehead as Marc pulled to a stop a moment later, looking wrecked.

‘What took you so long?’ Kris asked, sitting on the arm of her chair like he’d been there for hours.

Marc chucked a twig at him.

‘So – lunch,’ Tove announced, as the guys began stretching. ‘I don’t mind where we go so long as they serve stuff starting with carb- and ending inohydrates.’

‘Vardshus, then?’ Kris chuckled, getting up. ‘Let me have a shower and then we can go.’

‘Me too,’ Marc said, following after him.

‘Not together, please!’ Tove called after them as they stepped into the little yellow house. ‘I know what you two are like, and we’ve got a ferry to catch, remember.’

Bell groaned. ‘Oh bugger. It’s Sunday already? I forgot.’

‘He really did fuck you stupid, didn’t he?’ Tove chuckled. ‘Yes, it’s Sunday. All day. Almost time to ship back to real life and our most excellent jobs again.’

Bell felt her good mood get a crazy-glaze. She hadn’t seen the Mogerts at all yesterday, which was just weird. And she had to face Hanna tomorrow. The conversation she’d been dreading was almost here. How to not get fired? She still couldn’t work it out.

‘I think this thing has surgically attached to me,’ she muttered, reaching up and trying to disentangle the floral wreath from her hair. With a sharp tug, she pulled it free, staring at the battered, misshapen garland, the flowers wilted and limp. For some reason, it felt totemic, her first and last remaining link to him.

‘Going to keep it for posterity?’ Tove teased, seeing her hesitation.

‘No. I’m going to get changed,’ she said, getting up and tossing it in the bin, hoping Tove didn’t see her wince.

The pub was rammed, every table taken and a queue snaking down the lane. ‘Looks like we’re not the only ones needing to carb-load,’ Marc muttered as they waited in line, looking as longingly at the shade of the apple tree as at the cold beers.