‘Hope you didn’t get too soaked; it’s absolutely vile out there.’

‘Tell me about it. I almost drowned on my way in.’

She gives me a sympathetic look and then turns back to Bernie. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

‘No thanks, dear,’ he replies. ‘I’ll just have a sprinkle of pepper.’

‘I’ll get it,’ I say.

I bring over a salt and pepper set from an empty table next to me and place it next to his plate.

‘I hope the river isn’t going to flood,’ Dee says. ‘The Environment Agency say they’re keeping an eye on it, but they’ve told us to put out the sandbags just in case. It’s already creeping over the causeway.’

Bernie pours his tea with gnarled arthritic fingers. ‘If they stopped building on the floodplains, this constant flooding malarkey wouldn’t be happening.’

‘You’re right.’ Dee starts wiping down the next table. ‘But they’re running out of places to build on. Where are all these new families supposed to live?’

‘It’s simple physics.’ Bernie adds a few drops of milk to his cup and then heaps in a large teaspoon of sugar. ‘If the excess water can’t spill out onto the plains, it’ll find another place to go.’

I remember the last time the river flooded. The water surged over its banks and into the car park. We were all holding our breath to see how far it would get. Luckily it didn’t reach South Street, but we all pitched in helping the other businesses on the quay clear out their ground floors, just in case.

I make my way through to the back, where I dump my bag in the office and grab an apron. I’m hoping that keeping busy will distract me from this morning’s discovery. But I can’t stop thinking about that comment on Kate’s Facebook page. It’s making me feel quite nauseous. As I walk back through the kitchen, the rich scent of frying bacon turns my stomach. Out in the café once more, I start clearing tables and taking orders, being overly attentive and friendly to all the customers to compensate for my dark, anxious mood. My face feels as though it’s a mask, my words like they’re lines from a play.