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time to find out what.) Jules had also worked at the pub back then, but being only sixteen her duties had been restricted to washing glasses, wiping tables and sweeping the floor. By the time she was seventeen, and halfway through sixth-form college, she was a part-time server behind the bar (Kian’s Uncle Pete with his flamboyant moustache and twinkly eyes had always considered the law something to be stretched and moulded to suit a person’s needs), and she and Kian had already decided that one day they were going to run their own pub.
    ‘Wouldn’t you just love it to be the Mermaid?’ he’d sighed one warm Sunday afternoon as they’d strolled on the deserted beach in front of the forlorn-looking inn. ‘Just think what we could do with it if we had a bit of cash.’
    ‘A lot of cash,’ she’d corrected, ‘and then we could make it the best pub in Kesterly by a mile, the way everyone says it used to be.’
    And now, miraculously, here they were happily married with their extravagant plans built up over the past several years coming to fruition, and enough in the bank to create even more.
    When the money had come to them, back last year, Kian had been working in Damian Boyle’s car showroom on the outskirts of Paradise Cove. One of his many tasks, besides selling the second-hand rides at which he was extremely good, was to run the staff lottery scheme. This meant collecting the money, popping out to the newsagents to buy the tickets, and checking the results when they came in.
    However, it wasn’t the syndicate that owned the only winning ticket one momentous Saturday evening, it was Kian who’d tossed over a pound coin before leaving the shop, saying, ‘Give us one for luck, mate.’
    So the newsagent had, and by the end of the day Kian was in such a profound state of shock that he hadn’t been able to speak to tell anyone what he was sure couldn’t be true. It was only when he made the call and found out it was true that he finally owned up to Jules, who’d as good as fainted when she’d heard how much he’d won.
    Being Kian, he couldn’t face telling his colleagues in the syndicate that by some mind-boggling fluke he was rich and they weren’t, so when the winnings came through he’d ended up giving them all twenty grand each, no strings attached. There were handouts for his family too, naturally, and the biggest of all for his mother. Weirdly – or perhaps not, since his family wasn’t like most others – no one had used their windfall to leave the estate. A few spent it on home improvements, others lost it all on the horses or dogs, a couple made good investments in a new waterside development next to Paradise Cove, and just about every one of them, including his mother, had bought themselves a brand-new car and taken a fancy holiday. Aileen’s choice of car had been a funky blue Fiat Panda, which she’d picked up a day before taking off on a luxury cruise around the Med with her best friend Marsha. In return Marsha had used some of her own little windfall from Kian to take Aileen, Trish and Steve on, of all things, an African safari. Such courage from her mother! Jules could hardly believe it when Marsha, who worked at the dog-rescue centre, had owned up to this secret, lifelong desire to see wild animals in their natural habitat.
    Now, Jules was about to start back inside when Aileen’s funky Fiat, as everyone called it, swerved in from the main road and skidded to a halt inches from Bob’s white van.
    Realising Em was at the wheel – Aileen had given Em the keys the day Em had arrived from the States, telling her to think of the car as her own for the duration – Jules ran over to greet her.
    ‘Did you get through?’ she asked, as Em climbed out of the driver’s seat, beaming all over her dear sweet face.
    ‘I did,’ Em confirmed, her spiky blonde hair and riot of gingery freckles making her look as airy and frivolous as a teenager, when she was actually twenty-six and already a