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driving?”
    Ruby laughed and reached for the door of her Mini. “It’s fine,” she said. Then, from her driving seat she added, “Tommy can walk you home. Hey, Tommy. Remember the way? Head down Memory Lane and you can’t go wrong.” And with that, she revved the engine into life, slammed the door and tore away into the night.
    “You think she’ll be okay?” asked Tommy.
    “Ruby’s always okay,” said Holly. “And I don’t think she’s quite over the limit. I was keeping an eye on her: I knew she wouldn’t stay.”
    She started to walk, and Tommy fell into step beside her.
    “You ever wonder what we missed out on?” he said. “By, you know, not being us any more?”
    Almost every day. That kind of what if never quite goes away.
    “Sometimes. You’re always going to wonder, aren’t you? We were together for a long time. One of us would probably be in prison on a murder charge by now, though.”
    They laughed.
    “Manslaughter and a sympathetic judge and you’d probably be out on bail by now,” said Tommy. “Can’t say I wouldn’t have deserved it.”
    “We were kids, weren’t we?”
    Sixteen and in love. The only important thing in your life at the time. You’d never believe anyone that you might look back on it all and laugh. Not just laugh, though: you would never lose those memories, those moments.
    Right now, Holly had to fight the urge to take his hand. It was a nostalgia thing, she knew. She never wanted those memories to fade, even though they were both different people now. She liked that those memories were of a good guy like Tommy and not regrets over bad choices.
    “You’re quiet.”
    “Sorry. Miles away.”
    “That guy. At the Hall. He didn’t do anything, did he?”
    The kiss... the feeling of his body against hers, his hard hands encaging her head.
    “No. Nothing. It just didn’t work out.”
    The cottage was at the end of a small terrace of laborers’ homes that belonged to the Estate. Golden Cotswold stone, window boxes spilling over with lobelia and pelargoniums, thickly thatched roofs; their lives were wrapped up in chocolate-box imagery.
    Holly paused, and glanced at Tommy, suddenly awkward. His smile set her at ease. “It’s okay,” he said. “I know your awkward-silence face when I see it. No big deal, okay? Maybe we could meet up for a drink sometime and catch up. It’s been far too long.”
    Then he leaned in, gave her a quick, strong hug, and backed away.
    She felt stupid for allowing that moment of awkwardness to surface.
    “Yes, let’s do that, Tommy. I like this. I like having you as a friend.”

5
    Saturday was changeover day at Bank Cottages, and even this late in the season one of the lets had holidaymakers leaving this morning and a fresh set arriving in the afternoon. Holly set to with gusto, and finished in good time. Cleaning holiday lets wasn’t exactly a career-choice of hers, but she’d done enough of clearing up after other people that it never really fazed her any more.
    When she was done, she headed for home, walking briskly. It was another of those brittle autumn days, a pale blue sky with wispy veils of white, a breeze with a bite to it and a crisp freshness in the air.
    Heading back through the village, she was just about to cut across the green when she saw the familiar lone figure, leaning on a walking stick as he stooped to pick something up from the ground. A tennis ball. He straightened, threw it, and Alfie the red setter burst out of the bushes and charged off in pursuit.
    Holly cast her mind back, but she couldn’t recall ever seeing Nicholas Blunt out here on the village green before.
    He spotted her and dipped his head, as if he was about to doff a cap.
    “I thought I might see you here,” he said.
    What an odd thing to say. She had no reason to be here at this particular time, other than that she was walking home after one of her casual jobs.
    “You’ve been waiting for me?” She felt grimy, sweaty; she needed a good