The Speckled Teapot stayed open late on Fridays and Saturdays, turning from a café into a bistro. Business was slow that evening; too many people going home from work to start the weekend and not yet ready to celebrate the fact with a meal out. As a result, Donald May found himself the only person in the restaurant, sat in a quiet corner at a table reserved for two. He declined the waitress’s offer of a drink while he was waiting for his guest and instead watched the world outside: people going about whatever they were going about; coming and going, some with more purpose than others.

He looked at his watch again, a Christmas present from Caz and Freddie together. No sign of the woman. Was this the old Jean Samson, given to last minute changes of heart and abrupt U-turns, both in her...

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