Laurel unsnapped her seat belt, hoping she’d get Fliss before she left her Ealing home for her Saturday women’s self-defence class. She’d considered ringing Alex, because she missed his quiet good sense and strength, but he might be in bed with Vonnie. She didn’t begrudge Alex finding someone who might give him what Laurel couldn’t. She’d just rather not intrude.

Forward was the way to go. Fliss possessed as much strength and good sense as Alex, anyway. One day, Fliss, all blonde fluffy hair and confidence, had sauntered into the Chiswick High Road studios where Laurel had rented space and, in her soft Californian drawl, canvassed for artists who’d run community creative workshops. Laurel had volunteered, liking Fliss’s easy smile and her opening gambit: ‘I’m asking for something for nothing – do you want me to leave right away?’ Laurel had been drawn into Fliss’s bright orbit, not just because it was the beginning of several years of helping people have creative fun with donated materials but because Fliss, all about empowering people, had run self-defence and personal safety classes where Laurel had learned a lot.

Or, at least, she thought she had, until she returned to Middledip and felt like an angry, intimidated teen again.

The ringing tone sounded in Laurel’s ear several times before a sleepy voice answered, ‘Hey, you. How’re you doin’?’ Fliss had lived in the UK for over ten years but south California was still strong in her voice.

Laurel felt a shaft of guilt. ‘Did I wake you? I thought you were teaching a class at ten so you’d be up.’

Fliss yawned loudly. ‘Class cancelled. Damned hall flooded. Now, why don’t we try that again. How are you doing?’

‘Bleurgh,’ Laurel answered honestly. ‘I had that crappy nightmare.’ Fliss knew her entire story and so there was no need to launch into a detailed description. ‘I’ve come out in the car so I could talk to you without Rea overhearing and being worried. It’s peeing down here.’

‘I can hear rain against my window, too. A real “welcome to winter” kinda day. So, you know what triggered the nightmare?’ Her intonation suggested that she, at least, thought she knew the answer.

‘Being in Middledip. Seeing bloody Mac Cassidy,’ Laurel replied gloomily.

Fliss’s voice was as gentle as a snowflake landing on Laurel’s burning heart. ‘Honey, you could tell your sister what happened, if it’s got you all churned up having to deal with this Mac character again. You can call me anytime but family support in your village could be good.’