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‘Noooooooo!’ she wailed, and ran off to hide behind thick velvet curtains.

That’s where Temperance found the box of Play-Doh. And where, twenty minutes later, a five-year-old boy found Temperance, a chunk of dough with very noticeable bite marks held in her hands.

‘It’s not real food,’ he said kindly.

Just then, the curtain was pushed back and Temperance’s hideout was flooded with light. ‘What’s going on here, then?’ the vicar’s wife asked, looking at Temperance, whose face was going blotchy with pink patches of burning shame.

Behind the woman’s back, the boy stuck his finger in one of the other Play-Doh pots and rubbed it on his gums. ‘We were eating it,’ he said loudly, showing flecks of bright blue in his teeth.

‘Goodness!’ the woman snapped. ‘You hooligans! It’s not for eating! And it’s extremely dear. I shall have to tell your parents about this!’ She grunted out a breath.

Tears filled Temperance’s eyes, but she wouldn’t look at the vicar’s wife. She fixed her gaze on the little boy with the blue smile.

That was the first time she met Abel.

‘I’m not a churchy person either,’ Suzie pulled her back to the here and now, ‘I was . . . um, just wondering if religion was a big deal to you. And I’m . . . um, interested if it’s an essential English thing that I’m missing out on.’ She squinted at Temperance slightly, watching her face closely for any sort of reaction.

‘Not so much for us.’

‘Right. Right. Hey, I also wanted to ask,’ she swallowed, ‘about your merchandising system?’

‘OK.’ Temperance shook the rose-tinted nostalgia from her head. That kind of soppiness wouldn’t help anyone right now.

‘Like – what is it? Because you’ve got sizes all mixed; colours, seasons, fabrics – all mixed. So . . . what’s up with that? It’s like no vintage store I have ever come across. And I’ve been in a lot.’

Temperance gave a hollow laugh as she skirted her eyes around the shop, desperately hoping a neat explanation would jump out and tidy things up for her. ‘Well. Yes. That is interesting that you should ask that . . .’

‘I’m not criticising,’ Stevie rushed on to say. ‘But in terms of shopper experience, it’s quite a hard job to browse around without much flow. For example, I’m going from,’ she walked her fingers along the wooden hangers on the rail nearest her, ‘a suit vest to some red velvet hotpants to . . . what’s this . . . a Liberty maxi skirt. A unique mix, you know?’

‘We’re, um, a pretty unique shop!’ Temperance kept her voice bouncy, aware she wasn’t really answering any of Stevie’s questions.

Stevie suddenly stepped forward and lowered her voice. ‘I could rearrange it for you. The whole shop floor. By era or by size – you choose. I can have it done like that,’ she snapped her fingers. ‘And frankly it would help me sleep better at night. Like, a whole lot better.’

‘That’s a big job for your first few weeks, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that.’

‘Please?!’ Stevie squeaked.

‘Honestly, you know, it’s the way my mum likes it and I don’t want to mess with that. Not without her around.’

Stevie’s chin dipped down and she went back to her post by the till. How could Temperance tell her that what looked like a bomb of fashion had been let off in Try Again was actually a very finely honed magical system? The clothes that had come in and received the Molland brand of deep cleaning were racked on the left side of the shop: the entirely clean, almost-new-again clothes. But on the right side were the garments that had come in with shiny, happy memories. Lee and her girls loved to send out these hats, skirts and suits into the world with new owners who could unknowingly enjoy their glow of second-hand joy for years to come. They grouped these clothes by their feelings: romantic tops with loved-up slacks; excited handbags next to optimistic day dresses; confidence boosting boob-tubes with empowered espadrilles. And the Mollands knew just how to matchmake their shoppers with their shiny, happy things: an exhausted-looking parent who’d had a sleepless night of sweaty camping could be steered towards a belt that would help pull them together with a touch of swagger, or the local teen nervously anticipating their first-ever job interview who needed not only a smart suit jacket but a subliminal boost of Bad Ass confidence. There was a system here, just one that only the Mollands could see.

Temperance sighed. ‘Susie will be back any minute with the car, so I’d better head out and wait for her. Give me a call if there any problems, OK?’

‘Sure.’ Stevie gave a half-hearted wave. She watched Temperance walk over the green and then fetched the broom from the office. With a few sweeps, the salt line she’d carefully sprinkled earlier was all cleaned away. It certainly didn’t seem to cause a problem to Temperance.

Interesting. But it doesn’t explain everything.

Stevie went and placed both hands on an enormous orange faux-fur coat. She kept her hold and closed her eyes, in the best imitation she could manage. Temperance didn’t realise it, but Stevie had seen her a handful of times now, touching some of the garments with an almost reverential, spiritual air about her, and in total silence. Like she was listening for something. But even though Stevie let her fingers sink into the deep pile for a good ten minutes, she couldn’t hear a thing.

With a sigh, she went back to her work.

‘Wine gums?’ Temperance asked.

‘Naturally. Glove box.’

Temperance rustled open the packet and offered it to her sister, who was keeping her eyes on the road in the driver’s seat. Susie took a handful and knocked them back. ‘Mhm. I love the first mouthful when wine gums are still delicious. Three more chews and they’ll be disgustingly sickly.’

‘Not that that would stop us ruining this whole bag.’