‘Too early for me,’ he said genially, rather than tell her he hated coffee to taste of anything but coffee … except maybe Jameson whiskey once in a while. One of the reasons he liked The Angel was its permanent, heady scent of coffee. ‘I see the decs are going up.’ He nodded to where Carola and her teenage daughters were heatedly discussing whether a naked Christmas tree was straight in its pot. His vote would be ‘no, it’s not,’ but he wasn’t going to enter that fray.

‘Yep. We’ll be one big twinkle till the end of December.’ Jodie beamed. ‘We’ll be breaking out the Christmas jumpers next. What can I get you?’

He ordered a latte and a sandwich, paid, then carried them into The Public. He didn’t generally mind where he sat but when he saw an empty seat beside Laurel he made straight for it. She was alongside Daisy and her mates, including his nephew, Niall. He dumped his bag and coat and deposited his lunch on the table then exchanged a high five and a ‘Hey,’ with Niall and joked with Daisy and Zuzanna. By habit, he checked Niall looked happy and relaxed. He’d loved Niall since he first held him, a crumpled baby with a wondering gaze, making tiny popping noises with his lips. He’d enjoyed being an uncle, the one who bought the noisiest toys and never minded excursions that involved mud. Now Niall had hit puberty and was interested in girls, music, TV and computer games, they were more like buddies than uncle and nephew but Grady loved him no less.

As Niall was seated snugly between Zuzanna and Daisy and not looking in need of anything from his uncle, Grady turned to Laurel. ‘Glad you’re here. It means I’m not the only one who’s neither a teenager or a pensioner.’

She gave a small smile. ‘I’ve just been introduced to your nephew. Mac’s son.’

He flipped the lid off his coffee cup and made sure they got one thing straight. ‘Niall’s ace,’ he said firmly. ‘He’s great mates with Daisy.’

‘Oy!’ a woman broke in, pretending to glare ferociously at Grady. She was seated across the corner of the table, her strawberry blonde hair piled on her head, a two-year-old boy industriously eating shortbread by her side. ‘Which am I, then? Teenager or pensioner?’

‘Teenager, obviously, Tess,’ he said smoothly, though he happened to know her next birthday would be her fortieth because her husband had already mentioned a party. ‘Laurel, have you met Tess Arnott-Rattenbury? Her husband’s Ratty, my landlord at the spray shop. Tess illustrates children’s books. Tess, Laurel’s an artist.’ Then he sat back to enjoy his sandwich and coffee while the two women talked. He noticed Tess’s little boy blinking at him and remembered that he’d recently tried to teach the child to wink.