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‘Uh, sure.’ Abel picked the wicker basket furthest from Temperance – of course – and pulled it out onto the shopfloor in one fluid motion. ‘What am I looking for?’

‘I know we had a very dark purple pair of jeans – a noughties bootcut, I think. Nothing too radical and your mum could dress it up or down.’

‘OK.’ He crouched down on his heels. ‘Dress it up or down – I never know what that means. It’s . . . baffling. Do they take girls aside at Brownies or something to explain it?’

Temperance laughed, passing over some inky black loons. ‘What are you on about?’

‘I get how something can look fancier – with jewellery or whatever. But what is dressing down? Going out in an old stained T-shirt that needs a wash? And why even would you want to look more ‘down’?

It was almost the most Temperance had heard Abel spontaneously say in one breath since he came back to the village. It was most like the ‘old’ Abel she had seen in a long time. Like how he’d always try to chat nonsense to the school bus driver, Lily, on the drive back to the village in secondary school. Just to make the same old journey that bit more interesting for her. He wasn’t as bothered in Lily’s racing pigeons as he made out, but she never twigged in all those years.

But after what he’d just said about having no real ties to East Prawle anymore, Temperance felt dizzy with the contrast in these two opposing sides to Abel Gulliver.

‘So I take it your girlfriend never dresses down then? Always a blow dry and a string of pearls on the go? I bet she doesn’t buy her jeans from an old suitcase,’ she teased.

Abel stood suddenly and dusted off his hands. ‘Probably not.’

Temperance felt her throat go sticky. She knew she shouldn’t go down this route – she knew it would only make her feel worse – but Abel’s girlfriend was the spot she was going to have to scratch. There was so much about his life that was an utter mystery, and now that she had the chance to get some answers, she wasn’t going to pass it up. Even if the curiosity put her heart six feet under.

‘What’s she like? How long, um, have you guys been together?’ She aimed for nonchalance as she kept searching for the purple jeans, her hands now clammy.

‘Not long,’ Abel replied in an even tone. ‘Just a few weeks. Maybe two, officially,’ he finished.

Temperance nodded. ‘Cool.’

Abel rubbed his palms against one another. ‘I’m not really into relationships. Not long-term ones. Cass knows that.’

Steady on, Casanova. Temperance allowed herself a kernel of bitterness. Just a little one.

Abel leant down and pointed over her shoulder. ‘Those look purple, right?’

‘Yes. That’s them. And of course your mum could come and switch them for something else if they’re not for her.’ She stood up, hit suddenly by his scent. Toast, honey and the tang of seawater. Temperance swallowed. ‘No hard feelings between old friends.’ Her eyes locked with his.

Abel ran a hand over his head and left it resting at the back of his neck. ‘So . . . about me.’

‘Yes?’ Temperance found she was holding her breath. Was he finally going to clear the air about making the greatest of all French exits all those years ago? Was he going to say it had all been a stupid, impulsive mistake and he realised now – now he was so very grown up at thirty – how much he hurt her and how sorry he was?

‘So . . . I need something too.’

‘You do?’ She felt her lungs contract.

Abel creased his brow. ‘Yeah. A purple thing? Gran won’t let me off the hook. I did try and get out of it.’

You’re very good at getting out. ‘Of course. Right. We don’t have so much menswear, but it’s worth a good look all the same.’ She turned on her heel and moved to the back of the shop. ‘Or you can bend the gender norms. We love a bit of that at Honeycomb Corner.’ She yanked a sequin mini dress from the rail, it was rainbow striped but at least had a healthy line of purple.

‘Not sure I could pull that off.’ He stuffed his hands in his back pockets.

Temperance scrunched up her lips into an exaggerated knot. ‘No. I don’t think you could, actually. There are a couple of waistcoats on the rail behind you, if you want to have a flick through. One might have some purple piping or lining inside. Might get you through on a technicality, but not exactly in the spirit of our village. There’s some men’s accessories out the back. I’ll go and grab them.’

When Temperance came in again with a large cardboard box that she could barely reach her arms around, Abel on reflex stepped forward to help her with it.

‘No, no. I’ve got it,’ she all but snapped, plonking it on the counter. Her hands started to dig through, luckily not chancing upon anything as filthy as that red dressing gown. Now was not the time for a bolt of sexual chemistry. ‘Black belt, brown belt, black belt. Menswear is so blah,’ she said crossly, as if Abel was responsible for all the men’s accessories that had ever been designed or made. ‘A red pocket square: closer to some sort of flair, but no cigar.’

‘You sure there’s no purple sweatshirt . . . or a hoodie?’

Temperance felt heat rise to her cheeks with that last word yet he had no reaction. Yet more proof that he’s forgotten everything about us.

‘Why don’t you have a look.’ She pushed the box towards him and with an eye roll he started searching.