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So, he did the sensible and responsible thing and got ready, ignoring the burning pain over his back.

Mia snagged her tights on a plant by her garden gate – the bleeding-heart fuchsia, naturally – and swore fluently. While her skin was – thankfully – unscathed, she’d torn a hole in her tights that could be described as suspiciously heart-shaped.

By the time she’d changed and headed back to her car – this time giving the dratted plant a wide berth – she was well and truly losing her patience. It didn’t help when she put the radio on, hoping to drown out the invasive thoughts, only to hear a song all about forgiveness and second chances. Then, because she wasn’t having a bad enough morning, her stereo started glitching, and insisting on returning to that same station and song she didn’t want to hear every time she tried to change it.

She picked up her mail from reception when she arrived, along with a stack of scribbled phone messages, and sorted through them quickly in her office. A couple of callbacks she needed to make, but those could wait until the pharmacist had worked through their urgent jobs. She scribbled herself a few quick notes, then headed to the kitchen for another drink, making sure to avoid the biscuit tin and treats cupboard. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing any of the things she’d taste-tested and the rush of memories they’d bring.

She found it sitting on her desk, on the notepad she’d been scribbling on minutes earlier:

Courage. Talk. Hope.

She stared at the words for long moments, tracing their shape with her finger. She was sure the pad had been empty before she’d started writing on it, and the words were in a beautiful copperplate – certainly not her handwriting, or any of the usual team. She was still pondering them – feeling like the answer was right on the tip of her tongue – when her phone rang; that needed her attention far more than mystery notes. It was probably just a colleague playing an early Halloween prank.

‘Hello, Nurse Howard speaking. How can I help? Sylvie? Hello, is everything OK? No, of course I don’t mind you calling. Yes, I can spare you a few minutes.’ Even if Mia was annoyed with her son, she certainly wasn’t going to take it out on his mum.

Aiden’s ride into work that morning – usually one of his favourite times of day – didn’t cheer him up. Hudsbury was, as usual, shrouded in mist, but instead of being a welcoming blanket, the damp seemed to seep under his leathers and chill him to the bone. It suited his mood.

He trudged along the street, barely looking up from his feet, but when he started up the small high street, something grabbed his attention, dragging his eyes up.

Call her

The words on the café window rearranged themselves.

Apologise

He shook his head. If only it was that simple.

Talk to Mia

The pub advised, while the sign stared down at him disapprovingly. But he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He’d already tried. There wasn’t anything else he could say.

He trudged into Glimmers, ignoring the grumbling of the pumpkins, and already wondering how he would get through the day. Even the usually welcoming tinkle of the shop chimes seemed muted and dull, and threads from the giant spider web clung and dragged at him.

He shoved them away and ducked as hazelnuts smacked him in the face. Just what he needed: the shop to be in a mood with him as well.

Then again, he probably deserved it: after all, it was his decisions that had brought him to this point. He’d hurt one of the most amazing women he knew.

The floorboards screeched at him and the triquetra knot hummed and glowed unpleasant colours as his boots hit it, and the apple tree rustled and shook its leaves before launching apples at him, and he was hit by a wave of dank nausea.

‘Out!’

He wondered what the cat had dragged in now.

‘Aiden.’ Ophelia strode towards him, grabbed him, and manhandled him towards the door. ‘Get out. Now.’

The shop around him seemed to vibrate, and pain flashed through his head, leaving his vision filled with spots. Crashes sounded around him as Ophelia shoved him back into the street.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘You tell me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what in the bat dung is going on with you, but you cannot come back into Glimmers like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘This.’ She waved her hands vaguely around him.

His head felt muggy, and it was hard to concentrate. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘She means your mood, Dungbreath!’ one of the pumpkins helpfully added.