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‘And you are not calling me that.’ Unbidden, her finger shot into the air to wave in his face, scolding him.

‘Call you what?’

‘Babe. Or hunny, or sweetie, or sugar lips or anything else like that. My name is Angela.’

‘Sure thing, Angel.’

‘Nope. Just no.’

* * *

He winced as she glared at him, her smoky eyes flashing with something akin to irritation. For the second time in recent weeks his charm and the Smile were letting him down.

‘Let’s try this again.’ Her voice was clipped and terse. ‘I’m Angela, and I own and run this place. And you, I assume, are the person who has been court-ordered to come and “volunteer” here and try to be of some help. Yes?’ She paused for his nod. ‘And your name is? And don’t say Maverick, because that is not happening.’

‘Some people call me Rick. Is that OK?’ He didn’t know why he was suddenly asking for permission, but something about the way she held herself made it clear that she wasn’t the type of person who put up with any nonsense. Which was apparently what she viewed him as.

‘Rick? Yes, that’s much more sensible. Hello, Rick. I suppose you had best come in.’ The bottom half of the gate creaked open, and he struggled not to wince as the noise sent shards of pain dancing behind his eyes. ‘So, you’re supposed to be the one helping me out around here for a bit.’

‘Six hundred hours.’ The thought of it still made him feel ill. Even if he volunteered for thirty hours a week, that was going to take him through the rest of October, all of November, ruin his Christmas and probably run into February too. He hadn’t planned on doing anywhere near the full amount, but suddenly he was questioning his ability to get out of the hours like he’d assumed he could. He swallowed hard and followed her across the courtyard.

‘Well, I’m sure we’ll find some way you can be helpful.’ She didn’t sound particularly convinced or pleased at the prospect. To be honest, he wasn’t feeling very convinced himself. He’d expected some cute fluffy animals, but all he saw was mess and run-down looking sheds.

One of her sticks slipped on the cobbles — seriously, who actually had cobbles? — and he lunged forward to offer a hand, too slowly, and she righted herself and shook her head, tutting.

‘You know, I’m quite surprised to see someone like you in a job like this.’ He tried to engage with her.

‘Someone like me?’ She twisted to look at him. ‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, I thought you’d probably be a lot older. You know, like a retired hippy and not . . .’ He trailed off, not sure what the PC thing to say was, and just pointed to the crutches.

‘I’m not usually on these.’

That made more sense. ‘Bit of an accident then?’

‘Yeah. You could say that.’ She spat the words out at him.

He wasn’t sure what she was so annoyed about, but he was good at engaging with people and making them feel better. That was what the Rickheads always told him, so he gave the Smile another try. ‘Sounds awful, but at least you’re OK. And now you’ve got me to help.’

The look she gave him was so vicious that he actually took a step back. ‘You have no idea who I am, do you?’

‘The manager of this place?’ Manager sounded respectful, didn’t it?

‘Yes, owner, operator, manager and general donkey’s-body. But that’s not what I meant. I meant do you know who I am in relation to you?’

It felt like a trick question, but he was too tired and in too much pain to figure it out, so he just flashed the Smile again. ‘My boss for the next few weeks?’

‘Yeah, I guess you could say that. The village council seem to think that helping out here at Bill’s is the least you can do after doing this to me.’

Afterwards, he would blame the late night and headache for the next stupid comment, but in the moment, under the glare of her accusation, he turned around and snapped, ‘I’ve never met you. How am I responsible for anything?’

‘I was in the café.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. It really was. But I’ll thank you to not use language like that around me. And if you don’t mind getting out of my way, I’m expecting a patient. You can go find Harry.’ She flicked her fingers towards the corner of the courtyard before hobbling off in the other direction, the crutches snapping angrily as she did so. He didn’t dare ask who “Harry” was.