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‘Absolutely,’ said Jess, holding out her hand for the cards. ‘There hasn’t been much love for me around here. Most residents are old enough to be my granddad.’

Well, she couldn’t back out now. She passed a few cards over, being sure to keep most of them safely on her person. She was used to having online clients, not people she might have to console with tissues and tea.

‘You know, my nan was sure she knew you,’ said Jess, as she rung Alyssa’s items through the till. ‘But I get how stifling it feels when everyone knows your family tree and your mum’s knicker size. Takes some getting used to.’

Alyssa nodded. It was strangely pleasant to be understood by someone who wasn’t just a name from your social media followers list. Not that she’d be making friends here, because she wasn’t staying long enough for it to be worth it. Not that it was ever worth it – real-life friends just let you down. Her stomach growled as she saw Jess ringing through pastries and blackcurrant jam, presumably for tomorrow’s breakfast. Handy.

‘If you need more furniture …’ Jess began tentatively. ‘I could ask around?’

‘I’m fine!’ Alyssa felt her hackles rising. That was why it was better to keep yourself to yourself. She didn’t want half of the town knowing her business or showing up with their goodwill and potted plants.

‘And you sound hungry.’ Jess nodded at Alyssa’s stomach.

For the love of actual … Were a person’s bodily functions not even private around here? London had been so much easier.

‘The steak pie is amazing at The Rat and Raspberry.’ Jess looked at the clock. ‘It will still be dead at this time. Get a booth and no one will bother you.’

Peace, privacy and a juicy pie. It sounded bloody perfect.

‘Did Beryl just come in here?’ yelled a distant voice from beyond the counter in the storerooms, as another door closed. ‘I have a very fetching “Save Hartglove” T-shirt for her, with extra hearts. I do hope she’s sticking around.’

‘I’ll be off,’ said Alyssa quickly. It sounded like the older Mrs Halfpenny, and she had no intention of being Beryl or dressing in soppy slogans.