Maggie brushed out her hair, marvelling at how bushy it had become. It had always been thick and curly but the advent of turning grey had brought a new dimension to what had always been ‘difficult’ locks. She snatched it all up into a messy bun and stuck a clip in it to keep it in place. It wouldn’t stay that way but it didn’t matter; nobody would see her today.

Looking at the day ahead, Wednesday had the potential to be a good day. She had things to do. There were the daily tasks of attending to the chickens and the sheep but some fencing needed some attention and she had her mind on making a rhubarb crumble, if she had any of last year’s crop left in the freezer.

Maggie made herself scrambled eggs for breakfast, courtesy of her chickens or ‘The Girls’ as she liked to call them. Tidied up. Put her coat and wellies on and headed outside after a brief quarrel with the back door. Like a lot of the old farmhouse it was tired and in need of a little TLC. Outside it was windy and it shook the budding apple trees with force. It whipped around the yard and dismantled the bun in Maggie’s hair. Maggie filled an old metal bucket with water from the outside tap and marched down to the top field, with the wind whistling in her ears. She was glad of the noise. Most of the time life was quiet.

Midweek was always the worst. By that point she’d not seen anyone for a few days and Saturday was a long way off. This week she had had the advantage of Saturday’s adventure to mull over. And it had been such an adventure. Revisiting what had happened in the alleyway had given her brain something to chew over and she was grateful for it. She knew she’d got off lightly. Everything still ached but not as bad as on Sunday morning when she’d had to roll out of bed because every muscle had seized up in protest. The bruise on her bum was colourful but she knew she could have been seriously hurt. She’d never been one for thinking through the consequences of her actions. Always a jump and then work out where to land sort of person. Impulsive her mother had said. Stubborn as a mule her husband had called her. Maggie was cross about losing her bag and it had made her realise how out of condition she was. She was flexible – the daily yoga saw to that – but her strength was lacking and her reflexes were diminished. The latter surprised her because she had to deal with Colin on a daily basis.