He grinned. ‘The Three Fishes has been Christmas-bombed.’ His hair, looking soft and freshly washed, curved into the collar of a dark shirt. ‘Drink in the bar before we eat?’ he suggested. ‘You sit down. I grabbed us the window seat.’

‘Thanks.’ Attracted by the pretty Bombay Sapphire bottle, she asked for a gin and tonic and then crossed to the upholstered window seat and piled her coat on top of Grady’s, smoothing her blue denim shirt and black jeans. She’d dried her foxy hair straight and glossy tonight and, for the first time since coming back to the village, she was wearing make-up.

Brenda, a sixty-something lady Laurel suddenly recognised from yesterday’s Craft Stuff session called to her from another table. ‘Thanks for last night. I’ve been to Bettsbrough and bought half the frames in the art shop. You made it look so easy to get a professional result. I’m just deciding which pictures to put in the fair and which in my window.’

‘Glad you enjoyed the session,’ Laurel called back as Grady arrived, her gin in one hand and a pint of something dark in the other.

He slid in beside her and smiled hello to Brenda. He took a long pull from his beer and licked the froth from his lips. ‘We went out for Tonya’s birthday meal to an Indian restaurant in Cambridge or Niall and I would have been at the session, too.’

‘Sounds like a lovely family outing,’ she commented, visualising a happy group wolfing down fragrant dishes and relaxing in each other’s company. Teasing. Joking. Chatting. She felt a sudden nostalgia for the bars and restaurants in and around Park Royal and sighed. ‘I’d love to encourage Rea to do something like it. Maybe just here, in the pub, with me and Daisy.’ She studied the chattering, laughing clientele. Might Rea feel better at a table near the door? Or maybe the dining area would be more secluded? Constantly staying in sounded like hell to Laurel.

Grady’s brow furrowed doubtfully. ‘Do you think there’s some prospect of that?’