‘I guess so. In a man-bear kind of way.’ Alice smiles. ‘But it’s what’s inside that counts anyway, Faith. I know you always think you can change these guys but—’

‘Mitch is different. He doesn’t need changing. He’s got his own business, and it’s doing really well.’ She’s rambling, her eyes locking Alice in a stare. She’s making a plea for Alice to say, ‘You’ve snagged a good one this time, Faith. Good on ya!’ But Alice won’t. She can’t say what she doesn’t feel – it’s not in her nature. She pulls from her friend’s stare, and looks around the crowded bar. Mitch has got in a three-deep queue; he’s going to be a while.

It’s as her eyes move across the bar, she spots him: Leon.

‘Oh God.’ She lowers her head, and slides down in her seat, as though this movement will make her invisible.

‘What?’ Faith looks about her. ‘Alice, what’s up, lovely?’

‘It’s Leon.’

‘Your ex? Where?’ She’s flicking her eyes in all the wrong places.

‘Just behind Mitch,’ Alice whispers, ‘over there. He’s …’ The person Leon’s with is behind a group of noisy men, and Alice can only see her long, slim arms, ringed fingers placed on Leon’s hands. ‘He’s with someone.’

‘Oh yes, I see him.’ Faith looks at Alice. ‘Are you OK? I know you said—’

‘I’m fine.’ She forces a smile. ‘Honestly.’ Alice hasn’t seen or heard much from Leon since the funeral. Just a few message exchanges that fizzled and died on the screen. But she still has feelings for him, and at the sight of him with another woman her heart decides to dance to a tune of … What is this feeling? Envy?

Within moments, Alice has necked back her wine, and is on her feet. ‘Listen, I’m really sorry, Faith. I’m going to have to meet Mitch another time. Do you mind? I’ve got a rotten headache. Sorry.’

She doesn’t wait for a reply. Just grabs her coat, and dashes towards the exit, keeping her eyes to the floor. She’ll make it up to Faith another time.

It’s raining when she reaches the pavement, breathless, the pub door slamming closed behind her. She hasn’t got her car, had planned to have a couple of wines. Faith had said she would drive her home to the cottage – though she noticed her friend was about to have her second pint, so maybe she would have ended up walking anyway.

Alice sold her apartment after her father died, deciding to move to the cottage permanently. She’s rarely regretted that decision, Butterfly Cottage giving her comfort, but now she wishes she still lived in the centre of Whitby. A twenty-minute walk doesn’t look tempting in the rain.