‘Well – and do say if this is too big an ask,’ Anna began, ‘but I wondered whether it would be possible for any customers I do have to use your downstairs bathroom during my service period? I’d worry that if I let people use mine I might get them wandering into the kitchen. Not something health and safety would approve of if they were ever to turn up.’

‘Not to mention that you don’t want to be worried about strangers nosing about in your home,’ Pat agreed. ‘Let me check with Frank, but I don’t see why not. We can always turn the key to the kitchen if we need to.’

‘Thanks, Pat,’ Anna said, relieved.

‘No problem, dear. Let us know if you think of anything else.’

‘You can be early standby customers!’ Anna said. ‘I’m planning to make sure the table’s full of friends, if no one else.’

‘Oh, I don’t think filling your table will be a problem,’ Pat said, heading indoors. ‘Look at the customers you had without even trying. Pop over later for a tipple if you fancy it.’

Anna spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon making notes and lists of tasks she would have to accomplish before the lunch club could open. The kitchen would need some reorganization. She needed a complete set of matching flatware – from Rhona, of course. There was cutlery to think about, too, glasses, napkins – a multitude of considerations beyond the food itself.

She was so engrossed in her plans that she completely forgot Robert MacKenzie’s early morning declaration about razor clams until he banged on the door at two o’clock that afternoon. Anna opened it to find him in his customary yellow jacket, hands on his hips.

‘Tide’s heading out now,’ he said, by way of greeting.

‘Oh!’ Anna was momentarily flummoxed. ‘Yes – of course. Thanks. What do I need to bring with me?’

‘A coat, your wellies and yourself.’

‘I don’t have any wellies.’

He shrugged, ‘Boots will be fine, then. The ones you were wearing earlier?’

Anna pulled her coat from its peg and shoved her feet into her boots. She hesitated on the step. ‘Give me a second,’ she said. She dashed back inside, scrabbled around for a moment and then dashed out again, pulling the door shut behind her and turning the key, feeling entirely unprepared.

Her embarrassment of earlier returned as they walked to the harbour in a silence that felt intensely awkward. She wondered if she should say something, but what, exactly, could she say? And anyway, why should she feel obligated to say anything?