She hurries past the antique shop. The ventriloquist doll is still there, looking out at her from between the glossy brown Beswick horse and the mustard-yellow art-deco vase. She waves, doubting her sanity for a nanosecond.

The rain stops as she turns the key in the shop door. ‘Typical,’ she says to Henry, who shakes raindrops from his coat.

It’s cold inside, so she dashes through to the kitchen, puts the coffee machine on, and flicks on the radiator, before filling a bowl with water for Henry.

At the counter, a warm mug between her palms, her eyes flick towards the bay window. She startles. A middle-aged couple dressed in black stare in at her. The man is wearing a top hat and cloak, the woman a bustled dress made from satin. Alice’s heart thuds, despite knowing they are here for the Whitby Goth Weekend. She should be used to the streets being flooded with people in ghoulish fancy dress and make-up over Halloween; she’s seen it year after year. It normally gives her a buzz. In fact, one year she dressed as a vampire, and loved how her customers reacted.

The couple push open the door and smile and nod her way. There’s barely room for the woman to turn in her magnificent costume, which is more navy than black close-up and has a slight aroma, as though it’s been stored in a musty chest for a hundred years. His top hat almost touches the ceiling as they admire Alice’s zombie sculpture.

‘We might come back later,’ he says, buying a piece of Faith’s jewellery: a silver serpent bracelet.

The woman links her arm through his, and as he goes to open the door, Leon strides in, almost bumping into the couple. Henry greets him with a woof and a wag of his tail and half his body.

Alice hasn’t seen Leon since Sunday morning when he sneaked out the back door to avoid bumping into Faith, but he’s texted several times. They both agreed to keep things light. We want different things. We’re not right for each other. But there’s no reason we can’t be friends. The trouble is her heart says it’s so much more than that, but she’s got to hold back.

She told him she would be working today, that this was her first day in the shop alone since her dad died, and by the look of the two takeaway coffees he’s holding in his woolly-gloved hands, he’s here to support her. She loves him for that.

‘I thought you’d need this.’ He looks awkward as he plonks the cups on the counter, and pulls himself up onto a stool, his eyes on her. ‘But I can see you’ve already got one.’

‘Thanks.’ She pulls from his gaze. Runs her hand over one of the cups. ‘I’ll manage both. I need my caffeine fix.’