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afraid. They’re on their last legs by the look of them.’
    ‘You’re quite the resourceful girl, aren’t you?’ Mrs McFarland was gazing at her in frank admiration.
    Chloe hesitated. Mrs McFarland really shouldn’t be driving the car in a condition like that. ‘Come on. I’ll take you shopping.’
    ‘No, pet. It’s very kind of you to offer. But you’re busy. I don’t want to be a sponger. It’s a nice day, I can easily walk.’
    ‘Really, it’s no bother –’ But she could see the other woman meant what she said.
    ‘Come in for a cuppa, though? You look like you could do with one after all your hard work.’
    Chloe accepted gratefully. She left Jake in the other woman’s charge while she washed her hands and face in the bathroom of Margaret’s cottage. Afterwards she helped with the tea things and they sat in Mrs McFarland’s kitchen.
    ‘Settling in?’ asked Mrs McFarland.
    ‘Yes, I think I am, rather,’ said Chloe. She told her neighbour about the article she’d had accepted by the Gazette , though she refrained from mentioning the possibility of a regular column. Mrs McFarland would probably start a campaign to have every single person in town write to say how much they enjoyed her initial article just so that the editor would be impressed enough to commission the column, and it could all get embarrassing. As it was, the older woman was effusive in her praise.
    ‘To think! A famous writer, living next door to me!’
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that,’ smiled Chloe.
    ‘Oh, don’t put yourself down, dear,’ said Mrs McFarland. ‘The people who lived here before you were so dull, they were practically fossilised.’
    She went on to describe several of her circles of friends and told Chloe how excited they were at the prospect of meeting her. Chloe’s heart sank a little. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to cope with a whole bevy of ladies like Margaret McFarland.
    As the teapot emptied and the plate of biscuits became increasingly depleted, Chloe began to make moves to leave. She sensed that the other woman wanted to ask her something but was holding back. Figuring that if it was really important Mrs McFarland would come out with it at some point, Chloe thanked her for the tea and gathered up Jake.
    Mrs McFarland blurted: ‘He’s nice, that Dr Carlyle, isn’t he?’
    Chloe tried not to gape at her. Whatever she’d been expecting the older woman to say, it wasn’t that.
    ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
    ‘Well... you know.’ For the first time there was an awkwardness about Mrs McFarland that was at odds with her usual chatty obstinacy. ‘He’s a nice man. Charming, friendly. Decent. And very good-looking.’
    Sighing heavily, Choe sat down again. ‘Margaret. Just what exactly are you implying?’
    ‘Implying? Nothing, nothing. Oh, my dear, I didn’t want to cause offence. It’s just...’
    Chloe didn’t help her, just sat gazing at her, waiting for her to find her voice. Mrs McFarland drew herself up as though about to take a plunge off a diving board.
    ‘It’s just that Connie Simkins saw the two of you, Dr Carlyle and yourself, chatting in the supermarket the other day. And you looked like you were getting on well, with your two wee bairns, and Connie thought what a nice-looking pair you made.’ She closed her mouth with a snap as though preventing the words from unsaying themselves.
    Chloe broke eye contact with the other woman, shook her head slowly in disbelief. ‘People have actually been saying things like that?’
    ‘Not people, dear,’ Mrs McFarland said hastily. ‘Just... Connie. And a couple of others of us.’ Chloe knew her feelings must be starting to show in her expression because Mrs McFarland’s eyes widened. ‘Look, it was bound to happen. It’s a small town. Dr Carlyle’s an eligible, unattached young man. You arrive, pretty, also young and... well, and on your own. Naturally people are going to start wondering.’
    Chloe pressed her