‘I sent her a few messages, but I never thought for one second she’d even read them, let alone consider accepting. Not that she’s confirmed it as a definite.’

‘She doesn’t confirm unless she has to, waits to see if she gets a better offer,’ I mumbled, with a certainty that I knew who she was talking about.

‘What? Who?’ Becky asked, bouncing on her chair.

‘Nora Sharp might be coming to Damson Day!’

I gripped the arms of my chair with both hands and tried not to swear out loud.

‘What?’

‘I know!’

While Alice and Becky watched a clip of a video on Alice’s phone, drowning out the audio with their increasingly overdramatic exclamations, I held on tight and waited for the world to stop spinning.

‘You don’t look thrilled, Eleanor. Why aren’t you excited about this?’

‘Um. She’s just a person… Damson Day is about Ferrington. And I can’t see her bothering to come all this way for what to anyone outside the village is a glorified country fete.’

‘Er, hello?’ Becky was baffled by my response. ‘It’s also about raising money for the bridge, which means raising the profile of the events. If millions of people hear about us, then loads of them will come to other events. Who knows what it might lead to? Never mind the boost to Damson Farm Retreats. This could be exactly what we need to get the business off the ground!’

‘Plus, she’s posted about it in advance, so even if she doesn’t come, we’ll probably end up packed out on the day,’ Alice said, eyes round with animation.

‘Do we want to be packed out with strangers on the day?’ I asked.

‘If they’re spending money, then yes!’ Alice grabbed Becky’s sleeve. ‘Maybe we should start selling tickets. Or limit numbers somehow? Can we do that at this late stage? I should probably speak to Daniel and see what he thinks. Check out the guidelines on crowd control.’

‘Daniel hates Nora Sharp.’

They looked at me, faces full of hurt and bewilderment that I wasn’t jumping for joy.

‘Have you seen her reviews? Nora Sharp turning up is probably the worst thing that could happen. Daniel will be furious. Everyone will be fawning over her, taking all the focus off what the day is meant to be about – building something wonderful for this community. She’d hijack Damson Day and with one careless comment destroy our business before it’s even started.’

I pushed back my chair and, heart stuttering, on the brink of hysteria, I fled.

I was in my bedroom rewatching Lucy/Nora’s video for about the dozenth time. She’d been pretending to scroll through invitations, listing her ‘options for the week’. It had included new restaurants, an album launch and a bespoke cruise around the coast of Ireland. Then, right at the end, she’d added one more.

‘Now, what’s this? Damson Day. Oh my goodness, it’s like some retro country fair! I’ve half a mind to go simply because they had the guts to invite me. And come to think of it, it might be a nice change from nine-course tasting menus and small talk with impossibly rich people…’