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conference?’
    Mavis nodded, picking her way along the cracked pavement that led to the north entrance to Cupid’s Way. ‘I remember. Wasn’t he called Michael too?’
    She stopped and whirled around to face Evie. ‘Oh, no.’
    ‘Oh, yes.’ Evie pulled a face. ‘I had no idea, Gran. I didn’t know who he worked for until he walked into the meeting.’
    Mavis’s shoulders started to shake, and Evie put her arm around her. ‘I’m sorry. I feel just terrible. I spent an entire evening drinking cocktails with the bloody man. Talk about consorting with the enemy.’
    But when Mavis looked back at Evie her eyes were dancing and her mouth was twitching at the corners.
    ‘Gran? You’re laughing?’
    ‘Oh, Evie. I’m so sorry, my love. But it’s true what you said earlier. You really are the most terrible judge of character. And you certainly do attract the wrong kind of men.’
    Evie smiled, relieved her gran was managing to see the funny side – it could have gone either way. But inside she felt a little nugget of hurt crystallise and settle. And all the thoughts she’d tried not to have about Michael, all the hope and excitement and questions and memories of their short time together, dissolved into nothing and floated away.

Chapter 7
    Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp, and Evie woke up feeling strangely buoyant. She pulled back the flowered curtains in her grandparents’ spare room and pulled the wooden chair up to the window. It wasn’t yet spring, but there were signs of new life all over the communal gardens. Outside numbers ten and twelve the gardens had been segmented into raised beds, and there were the first shoots of growth that Evie assumed were vegetables. An allotment. She smiled and wondered if Frank would let her help out with it. She could do with a bit of physical labour. It would take her mind off Michael.
    Her jaw tensed just thinking about him. He’d texted her three times after the meeting, and each time she’d deleted the message without answering. Did he really think saying “Talk to me, Phoebe Sloan” or asking if they could carry on where they’d left off would make up for what he was planning to do to Cupid’s Way? Evie looked out at the row of even-numbered houses opposite. She had to admit they were looking a bit the worse for wear. The paint on the window frames was cracked and flaking, and parts of the red brickwork had blown. The guttering above number ten was hanging on by a thread, while there were more than a few roof tiles missing all the way down the row.
    She sighed and turned away, gathering up her clothes to take to the bathroom, where the electric heater made it bearable to undress and dress. Mavis and Frank weren’t alone in not having central heating, but room heaters and the ubiquitous open fires kept the residents warm enough.
    Downstairs, Mavis and Frank were arguing in the kitchen. Evie had heard them through the floorboards, but she’d tried not to listen. There would be no getting away from it now.
    ‘Evie!’ Frank pounced on her the moment she walked through the door. ‘Will you tell your grandmother to take it easy. She won’t listen to me.’
    ‘Okay,’ Evie said. ‘But what makes you think she’ll listen to me?’
    ‘I am actually here,’ Mavis said, her hands on her hips. ‘And I’m not an imbecile. I’m seventy-five years old, and I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.’
    Frank led Evie into the lounge. ‘She’s not herself, you know,’ he said, keeping his voice low. ‘I woke up in the night and she wasn’t in bed. When I came down here she was sitting in the kitchen talking to herself. And crying. But I’m not sure she even knew she was crying.’
    Evie shook her head. ‘It’s been a shock for her, Gramps. But she’ll rally round. She always does.’
    ‘I’m not so sure.’
    Frank looked back towards the kitchen, and Evie noticed how frail he seemed, despite his height and his aura of blustering strength.