‘Why not go to the Co-op in the first place, then?’ Geoff Johnson interrupted. ‘They always have excellent stock management.’

‘Because it takes over half an hour to drive there!’ I said, swiftly covering my nervous exasperation with a rictus grin. ‘Surely, there are loads of you Old Siders who love a tasty portion of fish and chips now and again? Or New Siders who fancy enjoying a Sunday Roast in the Old Boat House.’

‘Over my dead body!’ The crowd began to chunter. A bead of sweat slid down my back.

‘More like over hers!’ a girl who looked about twenty sneered, ‘She’s the one invited both sides!’

‘Is there a point to this?’ someone else hollered, and to my shock I realised it was Alice. She grimaced at me from the back of the crowd, making frantic ‘hurry up!’ gestures.

Right. Yes. In a moment of utter recklessness, I forgot my Old Ferrington speech, took a deep breath, adjusted my slippery grip on the microphone, and got to the point.

‘Forty-seven per cent of you on the New Side have to wait over two weeks for a doctor’s appointment. The Old Side have a new GP which means as of two months ago, they’re undersubscribed. Primary school children on the Old Side have to travel forty minutes on the school bus each way, because there’s no bridge any more, instead of enjoying the health benefits of a short walk. The cost of the bus could pay for a whole extra teaching assistant. That means both sides miss out.’

I ploughed on for another few minutes, ignoring the heckles as I carefully stated the facts and figures, clearly highlighting all the ways that Ferrington lost out – financially, socially, convenience-wise, due to the bridge. ‘Magda Riley has an advert up in the Co-op wanting a dog walker.’

‘That’s right, I do!’ a woman in her forties called, waving her hand proudly. ‘Since I started my new job I don’t have time to give my Doughnut a decent run in the morning.’

‘Well, you might be interested to know that Poppy Pilkington has a poster in the mini-market volunteering to walk dogs for free because her mum’s allergic so she can’t have one!’

‘It’s not my fault!’ a woman I presumed to be Poppy’s mum said. ‘I break out in hives all over!’

‘My point being, this feud is helping no one!’

‘It’s all right for you to say!’ one man called out. ‘You weren’t there!’

‘With all due respect,’ I replied, ‘neither were you.’

There was a collective hiss of breath, followed by a stunned silence. I hoiked up my tights, and stepped into the breach.

‘These awful, painful, tragic events happened before a quarter of the village were even born. And for the rest of you, the sad truth is that those younger residents are moving away from here in busloads. Who’d want to stay in a village ripped apart by past conflict?’ I wanted to call it for what it was: bigotry, prejudice. But I thought about those one or two that might actually be listening to what I had to say, so I bit the words back.