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‘How old were you then?’

‘Probably about eight or nine.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘Then Nan decided she wasn’t that bothered about having a greenhouse anymore, so Grandad turned that into a pre-release aviary.’

‘Third one down. One more to go.’ He hesitated, then looked at her. ‘Hang on. The funny-shaped aviary at Bill’s, is that the one your grandad built?’

‘Yeah. When Grandad built something, it stayed built.’

‘So, Bill’s is your grandparent’s old home?’

‘Yeah, they left it to me. I wouldn’t have been able to afford it otherwise.’ She didn’t mention that she still struggled to a lot of the time. ‘Mum already had her own place and business, and Grandad thought I’d do a lot more good in the world expanding the rescue than in any other job he could think of for me. We started running it together after Nan died — partly to keep him busy and partly to keep me out of mischief. When Grandad joined her a few years later—’ she swallowed hard, the loss painfully raw even after so many years ‘—I decided there couldn’t be a better tribute than keeping it going.’

‘So Bill was your grandad. Makes sense.’

Angela looked at him oddly for a few moments, then laughed. ‘No. Bill’s a badger.’

‘One of your first rescues?’

‘No, he’s fictional. He was Rupert the Bear’s best friend. You know, like the cartoons and annuals?’

‘So you named your rescue centre after a cartoon badger?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’ Angela countered. ‘Nan used to read me all the stories, and bought me the new annual every Christmas.’

‘Well, why not a squirrel or fox? Or Rupert?’

Angela shook her head. ‘You’ve not realised yet?’

‘Realised what?’

‘Broclington. Brock is the old word for badger. It’s literally “Badger Town”. A lot of the local businesses here have badger references in their names. There’s Badger’s Hospital — the vet — the Brockle’s Retreat, which is the pub and the café, the Brockle’s Paws . . .’

‘You’re right, I hadn’t. I might have to do a reel on that.’

‘Why?’

‘Because people will think it’s cool, and probably watch the video and share it lots.’

‘And that’s good . . . because?’

‘Because it makes money. You really don’t know how this works, do you?’

‘Not a clue,’ Angela admitted cheerfully. She didn’t understand it, and didn’t really want to.

‘Phew.’ The last bit of wood gave. ‘We’re done. Let’s get this little girl out of here and see about removing her new fashion accessory.’

Gratefully, Angela hugged the cat against her, peering at the dusty moggy’s face, who decided that was the perfect moment to resume her yowling complaints and start to wriggle.

‘Here.’ Rick held out the saw, blade down. ‘Swap you? She looks like she’s not going to make it easy for you.’

After a moment’s thought, Angela handed the cat over. He was right. And it seemed the cat agreed — she stopped fussing the moment she was in Rick’s arms.

* * *

Rick blinked in the light as he handed over the cat to Angela, who popped her straight into the waiting carry-basket, still cocooned tightly in the blanket, and still with her head stuck.