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Temperance and Susie decided not to wake Stevie later that morning when it was time to head over to The Witch’s Nose. She looked so cute curled up on the sofa, her pixie cut all ruffled and her hands clutching their family blanket. It was a vintage quilt Lee had found after Susie was born and now the strong maternal love it came woven with was layered up with the Molland’s own family ties and bonds. It had always had the power to soothe Temperance after a rough day at school.

Explaining their family powers and answering Stevie’s four thousand questions had taken a good few hours and the whole contents of their snack cupboard. Truthfully, both sisters would be happily still asleep now themselves after all that, but they’d promised Margie they would help with some of the batch cooking ahead of her birthday party this weekend, and breaking a promise to her was just not an option. They didn’t want to let her down and they were equally a bit nervous of what she’d say if they ever tried. Even if that meant following an online tutorial about how to pre-cook a giant hog-roast and all the trimmings. So they’d left a note for Stevie to tell her to hang out and fix herself breakfast whenever she did wake up, and they’d be back later in the day. To answer the next two thousand questions.

Temperance had been given the job of peeling and chopping an obscenely large sack of apples, so they could be cooked down into a chunky sauce. It would have been a pretty chilled task – sitting out in the still-closed pub garden, Radio 2 in the background, a bag of peanuts to snack on, and her mind could have happily drifted off – except that after ten minutes Abel had stalked out with an armful of red cabbages and a chopping board.

‘They said I was taking up too much space in the kitchen,’ he grunted, plonking himself down three picnic tables away from Temperance, letting the cabbages bounce down onto the rough wooden surface.

Only big enough in there for one stuffed pig, huh? She thought to herself and bit down a smile.

‘At least you didn’t have to carry a watermelon.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Never mind.’

They fell into a tense silence as they sliced and diced, Temperance almost getting obscured by the mountain of apple peelings in front of her.

‘Here,’ he said, passing her a big brown paper sack. ‘For the compost.’

‘Right, cheers.’

A few times, Temperance had the very particular feeling of being watched, but whenever she flicked her eyes to Abel he was staring at the space just to her right, his eyes glazed and faraway. His hand would be holding the area where she knew his tattoo must be, under his T-shirt. Two fingers pressing into the waves. But it had looked far from a new inking to Temperance. Surely it couldn’t still be sore?

At one point he got up with a huff and went to the tiny shed in the corner of the pub garden, wrestling with the rusty latch until it opened. He came back five minutes later with some dusty recliner cushions and plopped one on the bench next to Temperance. ‘I’m bloody uncomfortable, don’t know about you.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ She slid the purple cushion under her bum and as soon as the back of her knees made contact with the scratchy nylon fabric she burst into intense giggles.

‘What?’ Abel’s head flicked around.

The world’s longest game of The Floor is Lava, Susie in her box-fresh school uniform and Abel and Temperance in their threadbare set. They’d used cushions, pub trays and beer mats as their ‘safe’ stepping stones to get from one bench to another, the September sun poking its way through the tree branches. It had all been Abel’s idea, to cheer tiny Susie up after a disastrous first week (where she’d wet herself twice) and they had laughed their way through a good few hours before Margie told them to call off the racket and served them all fish fingers, chips and beans.

Temperance steadied herself and shook her head. ‘Sorry. Just, um, got a funny text from someone.’ She made a show of checking her phone screen and then went back to her pile of apples, her lips still sneaking in a smile.

‘Devon Loves, is it?’ he said, without a glimmer of emotion.

‘What?’

‘Your app. Your dating app. That’s who’s making you laugh?’

Temperance’s head ducked back, like he was about to throw one of his cabbages at her. ‘No. Not today.’ She was hardly going to admit most of her Devon Loves dates had ended in her eating three Daim bars in front of Bridgerton. Totally alone. It wasn’t as if Abel needed more ammunition to make her feel like a total reject.

Abel cleared his throat. ‘So are you with . . . Uh, do you ever think about . . .’

A gentle tap at the gate behind startled Temperance, sending apple peelings all over the grass.

Abel frowned and stalked to the fence before she could react. ‘Who’s out there?’ he growled.

‘Um, it’s Mark, mate. Wondered if Susie was around? Or not. If it’s a bother. I shouldn’t—’

Abel slid back the bolts on the gate and yanked the door open. ‘Come in. It’s still half an hour till opening, so I can’t serve you though.’

Mark ducked in, his hands shoved in his grey joggers. ‘Right. Sorry, sorry. I should have realised you’d be busy.’ He took in the chopped apples and cabbage. ‘Are you . . . making some sort of Pimms?’

‘Yes, it’s a native Devonian recipe,’ Abel replied dryly. ‘Apple and cabbage is our custom. Served by a Morris Dancer.’

‘But with cream on first,’ Temperance chipped in, provoking a sudden blast of laughter from Abel, which seemed a surprise to him as much as it was to her.

Mark’s eyes flitted between them. ‘Right. Right. Silly of me. And now you’re laughing. At me.’