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‘You’re sure.’

‘Yes!’

‘OK. Whatever. Suffer alone. It’s really none of my business.’

Abel gave her a long stare before throwing the jay cloth in the sink and stalking around to her table. ‘Sorry. I’m . . . I had the weird dream again. That one I told you about? Last night. Except this time there was a fire coming towards the village, really close to the pub. And I knew Gran was still inside, so I was banging on the door, but for once in her life she’d locked it. The dream . . . it’s shaken me up, OK? Scared the shit out of me, if I’m honest. I don’t like the idea that something could happen to her and I’d be too far away to help.’

Temperance slightly regretted her snappy tone and softened her next words. ‘Margie has a big network of people here who love her. We’d never let anything bad happen to her. We are always around.’ Temperance had meant to sound reassuring, but maybe her intonation had lingered too long on that final ‘we’: the implication being that she and Susie were doing a better job as surrogate grandchildren than Abel was doing as a real one.

‘Right. I appreciate that,’ he picked at his thumb, ‘but all the same I’m going to extend my stay a bit, really make sure she’s OK once the birthday party stuff has died down.’ He said it as excitedly as if it was four back-to-back dental appointments.

Temperance felt her heart unclench just a little – more time to puzzle out the spell she’d cast over them all was a good thing, at least. Who knows if she had the powers to be as on the money with her predications as Mother Shipton, but she wasn’t going to let it get far enough to find out.

‘She’ll love that,’ Temperance said encouragingly. ‘Not that she’s a wilting little wallflower when you’re gone or anything, but I can see the extra spring in her step at having you back.’

Half a smile lit up his face. ‘It was fun watching her kick out a lairy holidaymaker who rested their pint on the pool table. She told him to go back to Centre Parcs where he belonged. I think she threw in a few extra swear words just for me.’

‘I legitimately learnt all my swear words from Margie as a kid. Well, Margie or you.’

‘Oh right, because you were a goody-two-shoes? It wasn’t my idea to steal flakes from the ice cream man, remember? And yet somehow, I got the massive lecture from Gran about “leading you astray”. Typical.’ Abel grinned, blinked, then quickly went back to wiping down glasses.

Temperance felt her breath catch for just a second. Abel Gulliver had actually admitted to having a past here in East Prawle. It shouldn’t have felt so momentous, but it did. Now she’d heard it confirmed with her own ears, and had glimpsed some sliver of warmth in Abel, Temperance was too curious for her own good. She wanted to see what else he might open up about. ‘Must be nice, though, a Gulliver get-together for Margie’s big birthday?’

His mouth folded back down into a line. ‘Yes – although it’s always weird, seeing Gullivers in a big group.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It reminds you who’s not there. Who never turns up.’ Abel rubbed unnecessarily hard again at the bar, as if he could polish out his anger. ‘And I don’t enjoy that part.’

Temperance bit her bottom lip. She hadn’t meant to stir up memories about Abel’s dad like that. Even if he could be a cold, rude arse at times, he didn’t deserve for that kind of a wound to be opened. She could kick herself. Trying to dig deeper to expose his happy roots to the village, she’d actually uncovered a deep, dark well of sadness. And perhaps another reason why he’d been happy to turn his back on the place he grew up in. For each good memory, there was obviously a sad one lurking just behind.

‘I’m really sorry, Abe, I didn’t mean . . .’

He looked up and met her eyes. ‘It’s OK. You get it, more than most.’ His eyebrows scrunched together as he moved to start wiping down the big coffee machine.

‘If you ever wanted to talk—' she ventured, but her words were cut off by a giant blast of steam shooting out of one of the shiny steel pipes, dangerously close to Abel’s face.

‘What the?!’ Abel stepped back, his forearm shielding his eyes.

A stab of pins and needles shot up Temperance’s hands, as if she was reading the strongest magic. She sprinted over to where he stood. ‘Are you OK?’

Abel nodded, wiping moisture away from his skin.

Temperance threw a tea towel over the guilty pipe and slid her hand around the machine to unplug it. But she found that it was already unplugged.

Her blood went cold.

The doom was rolling closer.

‘Fuck me, that was hot.’ Abel had his fingers pressed into his closed eyes.

Temperance turned to him. ‘Can you see OK?’ She took his hands away, moved them down to his sides. ‘Open up. Can you see me alright?’

The skin over his nose and forehead was flushed still but when Abel opened his grey-green eyes to her his gaze was unblinking and direct. He spoke slowly. ‘I can see you, Temperance.’

Her hands were still holding his. ‘Good. That’s . . . good.’ She slipped her fingers away and stood back. ‘Margie should get that machine checked out.’

‘I’ll tell her. Maybe something fell in there and set it off. I swear that steam looked purple as it was coming at me.’