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‘Which means you’ll need ice cream!’ said Jess, flicking her head towards the freezer bag on her shoulder.

‘And kitchen items,’ added Alyssa’s mother, pointing to a large box at her feet. ‘Because how can you make your lovely pea smoothies without a blender?’

‘And quinoa!’ said Sausage Sandra, who ran the local breakfast café. ‘Not our usual order, but I’m sure you’ll inspire us with your new fandangled ways.’ She held up a box of what looked like Alyssa’s least favourite pseudograins.

Jess was eyeing her freezer bag and mouthing ‘potato waffles’ and ‘triple-cheese pizza’.

Alyssa put a hand to her head. All these people. She was used to conducting her ‘friendships’ online. With followers she never had to meet and who couldn’t lovingly share their Furby toys and then smash your heart to smithereens, like a certain ex-best-friend.

‘Are you inviting us in?’ asked her mother.

‘Or we could leave the stuff outside?’ Jess offered, looking almost apologetic. She must have been picking up on Alyssa’s overwhelm and confusion.

‘We just wanted to be helpful,’ Horace added, looking charming in his flowery jacket and funky wellies. ‘You’re a good sort and we like you. But we don’t want to be a bother.’

Mrs Halfpenny plonked down her end of the table and Jess followed suit.

‘I know you’ve been avoiding me like an attack of pubic lice,’ said Mrs Halfpenny, sounding nothing like the sweet old dear who used to serve her Sherbert Dips in the corner shop. ‘So I won’t beat around the lady bush. Folk who’ve lived here long enough know you’re Beryl Bagnor and you weren’t born with bubble-gum hair and an online fan club. But just like Shania Twain is really called Eileen, if you want to be known as Alyssa, we won’t tell tales. Team Hartglove looks after their own – even if we’re pretending we don’t know you from Adam. Though I do think you’d look smashing in this Save Hartglove T-shirt,’ she said, waggling one at her. ‘Just saying.’

Alyssa looked at the sea of faces, her hand strangely drifting to her heart. They’d really brought all this stuff for her, and they weren’t going to blow her cover? How could she possibly turn them away? As much as she’d been planning a serene morning it would be rude not to stick the kettle on. She’d lived away from small-town life for years, but you never forgot the etiquette of offering tea. And she had been feeling a bit on the bored side.

‘Wow, well, thank you. Can I interest anyone in a cuppa?’ Alyssa slowly backed away from her position of blocking the doorway, because she couldn’t leave everyone out in the drizzle.

‘Thought you’d never ask,’ said Sausage Sandra, bustling her way in. ‘I brought milk and teabags. And apple pie cookies – though I don’t suppose you ruin your arteries with those.’

Alyssa gulped. She’d have to keep them away from her fridge, if she didn’t want them spotting the junk food. Or could she trust them with that too? As people filed into her once-empty space, she couldn’t help giving a cursory glance for Devan. Not that she wanted him anywhere near her home.

‘Don’t worry, Signorina Cuore,’ whispered Anna Farina, who Alyssa had learned ran the local Italian dessert shop, Dolce & Anna, which was also on Apple Blossom Lane. ‘I brought caramel apple tiramisu. I won’t let you starve on this bean food.’ She patted her own rounded belly. ‘Apples are symbolic of love, you know.’

Alyssa raised her eyebrows. She’d have to be sure not to eat too many – not that she believed in love nor fruit with superpowers. Was everything made with a hint of apple in this town? She did remember people used to store or cook and freeze them, to use all year round.

Anna gave Alyssa a wink, pinched her cheek as though Alyssa was an adorable toddler, and bustled into The Cow Shed, like a short, sweet woman on a mission. Alyssa didn’t know Anna from her previous years in Hartglove but could already tell she was going to like her.

And before Alyssa knew it, what seemed like half of the town and their friends, aunties and second cousins twice removed were piling into her small, converted barn, with armfuls of things she didn’t know she needed.

‘Where shall I put this air fryer?’ she heard her mother ask. ‘Everybody’s doing it, you know. You’re not alive until you’ve baked your cheese scones in a Ninja.’

‘My mum does her whole roast dinner in hers,’ said Jess. ‘Gravy and everything.’

Sausage Sandra pulled a face.

‘I brought you a heated clothes dryer,’ said the woman who’d been carrying a chair earlier. ‘I’m Mel from Splash ’n’ Dash launderette. No idea why my husband bought me this for our anniversary, when I have thirteen industrial tumble dryers and a perfectly good washing line.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Romantic, hey? And they wonder why there’s not enough love in Hartglove. You’d better give me one of your business cards.’ She winked and moved away, her three children following her and copying her hip-swishing action.

Splash ’n’ Dash. Well, it was an improvement on the days of Hackney’s All Washed Up.

‘Hartglove is perfectly nice,’ Horace added, when Mel and her brood had disappeared towards the kitchen. ‘It’s just that youngsters move away in search of more excitement, and many of us have come here to retire, sometimes widowed.’

He fiddled with a button on his flowery jacket and Alyssa noticed for the first time that perhaps it was more of a woman’s cut, as coats went.

Anna came past and squeezed his arm. ‘Me too, tesoro.’ Were her eyes welling up?

Before Alyssa could be sure, she’d sniffed loudly and was ambling off.

‘It means treasure, you know. Or maybe even darling,’ Horace said, absently. ‘It’s amazing what you can search for on this internet, isn’t it? My mobile phone tells me everything. Have you heard about apps?’ He smiled up at her, his eyes a touch teary too.

‘I have heard about apps,’ said Alyssa, her heart warming a little further, despite her best intentions. ‘Though you need to be careful with some of them. Shall we get you that cup of tea?’

As they arrived in the kitchen, the kettle was already on. Her mother was setting up all manner of gizmos and gadgets. Jess was sitting on the worktop eating raspberry ripple ice cream with stewed apples, and saying how she loved it when it rained, because you got to huddle in. Alyssa hadn’t noticed until that point that it was hammering it down.

Somebody had plugged in an old radio and Anna was dancing solo to something that sounded Italian and operatic.

And were Mel and her children actually hanging the contents of her washing machine onto the heated clothes horse? Were those her favourite knickers?

Horace chuckled. ‘No secrets in this town, hey, duck?’

‘Or much in the way of peace,’ Alyssa replied.

She blinked a few times, not sure how to take it all in. She ought to be outraged that a small person was now spinning around her kitchen floor with a pair of her tights, singing to Pavarotti. Or that her peaceful morning was now completely shattered. But there was laughter and warmth and a sneaky chance of tiramisu. And everybody meant well. So just for once, Alyssa decided to go with it. It wouldn’t be forever. She’d be back to her old, less overwhelming and more discreet London life soon enough. The one where she kept real people at bay, because if you weren’t careful, they had a funny habit of muscling in.

But it wouldn’t hurt to loosen the rules and accept a bit of kindness, just this once. Would it?