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‘He’s not here. Didn’t come back yesterday. But I’m glad you’re here, because you can fetch his stuff. And perhaps you can settle his bill?’ This was said wryly.

Fleur frowned. ‘Didn’t come back? From where?’

‘I don’t know – work, the pub . . . who knows? Lad didn’t fetch his key last night. And the cleaner tells me his bed hasn’t been slept in, but all his stuff’s still in the room.’

‘I’ll gladly settle his account, but is there nothing else you can tell me?’

The man started rolling the barrel again. ‘Sorry, love. We don’t pry. I know he was working at the woolstores but that’s about all. He was a polite chap . . . hope he hasn’t met with any accident.’

A chill passed through Fleur’s body as though she’d suddenly stepped into a cool room. ‘Tell me how much is owed, please. And I’ll pay for another night, to keep his things safely in his room. Is that all right?’

The man shrugged. ‘It’s your money, Miss Appleby.’

Tom had come to his senses late on Monday night, his head throbbing but his memory clear. His tongue felt thick and stuck to the roof of his mouth, and pain now arrived in full force, singing like an opera diva in her finale.

The initial blow had caught him square in the ribs and he’d felt the first of his bones break. As he’d doubled up in pain, the fists began to pummel and the thought consumed him that he should have trusted his instincts. His head had been so full of thoughts of Fleur that he’d ignored the movement in the shadows. He’d worked hard and fast that day. Time had got away from him and he’d decided to get organised for the next day so that wouldn’t happen again. He’d even swept the floor.

He didn’t mind the physical work; it kept his body limber and kept him busy, like days in the shearing shed. But it meant his mind was free to roam and roam it did, daydreaming about life with Fleur and whether she was thinking along the same lines. He reckoned they’d make a great couple. Would she agree? She was a force unto herself and certainly didn’t need a man, but her kisses! She’d meant them, he was sure. And he’d begun having ideas about how to help her realise her dream, while realising his own. He couldn’t wait to see her again at dinner the following night, and to meet her father.

Charlie had suggested a beer before closing time; Tom hadn’t really wanted an ale this evening because he’d planned to visit his mother’s grave, but in the spirit of being sociable he agreed to one. And that’s all they’d had.

After leaving Charlie outside the pub, Tom had begun striding up the road towards the hotel, intending to wash up first, but it was getting late, so he walked onwards towards the Cheltenham Cemetery. Charlie had given him directions. Distantly, he thought he heard voices and checked behind him, but apart from a couple of workers who looked to be making for the nearest pub and the usual thin traffic for a Monday evening, he couldn’t see anyone or anything out of place.

Weariness came over him, but it washed over him on a happy wave of good feelings he hadn’t felt in a long time, not since childhood. That was arresting. Had he been unhappy all these years? Probably not unhappy, he decided, but perhaps he had been moving through his days in a neutral gear – neither loving life nor hating it, but coasting through it, trying not to create any upheaval for himself. It suddenly felt as though he’d been avoiding life. This new mindset prompted the most pleasant of sensations, which he suspected came out of the delicious prospect of seeing – and kissing – Fleur again . . .

It was no small thing to carry a torch for someone over two decades, believing you’d never see them again. He remembered that first kiss from a precocious eight-year-old that had startled him, and laughed quietly to himself at her claim that he’d wiped his lips on his sleeve. To have met her again, and discover the fondness that had existed all those years ago was shared . . . He had become so lost in his thoughts that he paid insufficient heed to the animal instincts telling him to beware.

His intuition knew he was being followed by hunters who saw him as prey. Those hunters were moving in a pack, and they dragged him into a small laneway once he’d left Port Road and cut into High Street, which skirted the cemetery. Two of his attackers hauled him to his feet and he saw Jimmy Coglin’s face stretched into an ugly snarl.

‘You bastard. Stole my girl.’

You don’t deserve to have Fleur on your arm ever, Tom thought, and you’ll have to kill me to stop me stepping in your way.

Tom laughed despite knowing it was unwise. He won another fist in the ribs for that and felt something give. He began coughing and dragging in air. Although he was outnumbered and outmuscled, he would have loathed himself if he didn’t speak up. ‘Do you really think I stole her, Jimmy?’ He nearly vomited but realised he had little or nothing to bring up. He gagged and coughed again, kept talking. ‘Or was Fleur never actually your girl?’ he panted. ‘Perhaps she just walked away from the ugly bugger who she’d been forced to step out with by her bullying stepmother at home?’

Oh, he’d pay for that, he knew, but he enjoyed the moment as Jimmy’s eyes widened in the dim light from distant streetlights and the moon as it emerged from a cloud.

Jimmy didn’t like being mocked in front of the two apes alongside him, still holding Tom on each side. As they laughed, he rained down more blows and the blokes had to let go. It allowed Tom to curl into a foetal position and protect himself as his attacker laid into him with his boots.

‘Enough, Jimmy, all right?’ one said.

‘I haven’t got started, Brian,’ Jimmy said, sounding breathless. ‘Pick him up.’

‘Nah. Pick him up yourself, Jimbo,’ his mate said. ‘He’s taken enough, don’t you think, Donno?’

Tom had taken the precaution of becoming still as he lay face down. Maybe they’d believe he was unconscious and leave.

The one called Don joined in. ‘Yeah, you’ve made your point, Jimmy. He looks dead.’

‘He’s muscling in on my patch, lads. I’m going to marry her.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Brian, the less amused and more reasonable bloke, said. ‘She didn’t look all that interested at the dance, mate.’

Don laughed. He sounded like a donkey braying. ‘Good luck with that, Jimmy. We told you she’s too high and mighty for you.’

‘My dad and I are going into business with her mother once the wedding’s done,’ he snarled. ‘I can’t have this country bumpkin getting in my way.’

‘Well, he’s not in your way. He doesn’t even look alive.’