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Chapter 1

‘Bloody hell. There’s a cat back here.’

A voice reverberated from the depths of the red and white removal van as Lucy Baker approached. It had been blocking in her tiny yellow Fiat for nearly two hours and despite popping out at regular intervals to check on progress, she saw it was still there. The Hobbycraft centre would be closing in half an hour and she wanted to pick up some more balls of the Candy Crush double knit while it was still on offer.

She peered around the side as a pathetic almost-meow echoed off the van walls. A cautious black paw appeared from behind an upright double mattress at the far end, followed by a tiny pair of luminous yellow eyes.

‘Don’t just stand there. Pick the poor sod up,’ said the older man to his younger, spottier companion, who grunted and made a sudden lunge for the cat.

Startled by the movement, the bony creature dashed down the centre of the van and leaped from the back, bypassing the ramp. It caught Lucy’s arm as it jumped and pelted up the pavement.

‘Idiot,’ the older man muttered and turned to Lucy. ‘You all right, love?’

She nodded mutely and rubbed her arm as a noise to the left made her turn. In the open doorway of the newly occupied number twenty-four stood an extremely tall, suited man. Not too shabby on the eye, with a look of self-assurance, he was enough to get any heart fluttering. A subconscious hand went to her hair. Things were looking up if this was the new neighbour. Perhaps she could forgive him for failing to warn the residents of Lancaster Road it would be blocked for most of Sunday afternoon. After all, everyone deserved a second chance.

‘You own a cat, mate?’ the removal man called over to the suit.

‘God, no. Allergic to the damn things.’

The zooming rocket of attraction, which had shot into the sky as she’d appraised the fine figure in the doorway, floated gently back to earth like a downy white feather. His second chance evaporated, along with the initial appeal she’d mistakenly conjured up based purely on his muscular frame and a pair of serious, dark eyes.

‘Well, we either brought him with us up the A1, or he’s local and we nearly took him home. Shame Liam here scared the poor bugger off. Let’s hope there’s not some broken-hearted kid pining for it this evening.’

The suit strode over to the van. He was dressed terribly formally for someone who had spent the day moving house. Perhaps she’d got it wrong and he was the estate agent.

‘I hope the bloody thing hasn’t left cat hair all over my mattress or I’ll be up all night sneezing and rubbing my eyes.’

Damn. It appeared Lancaster Road was stuck with him.

‘I don’t think it’s from a loving home,’ ventured Lucy. ‘The poor creature was in an awful state. It looked more like a stray to me.’

The young lad finished unstrapping the mattress from the cargo rail and shuffled it forwards. ‘You take it on then,’ said the suited man, ‘if you feel so sorry for it.’

‘Oh no, I can’t.’ Lucy’s eyes were wide. ‘My landlady doesn’t allow pets.’

They stood facing each other for an awkward moment.

‘Right,’ he finally said. ‘So then you’re loitering at the back of the removal van because…?’

‘Um, I’m just waiting to get my car out,’ and she pointed to her Fiat.

‘We’ll be done within the hour,’ he replied, not bothering to look across at Lucy’s trapped vehicle.

‘Great.’ Her smile was forced and her heart sank to the bottom of her flip-flops. The Hobbycraft centre would be closed by then.

The suit cast his eyes around the few remaining items of furniture and returned to the house, closing the front door firmly behind him.

Manhandling the wobbly mattress down the ramp, the removal men momentarily rested it on the pavement between them. The older guy looked over to the closed door and sighed, just as another front door was flung open. They heaved it up again and walked towards the house.

‘Okay, what’s going on?’ asked Brenda, the elderly lady who lived between Lucy and the new arrival. ‘Honestly, Lucy, your aura is all over the place. I could sense your frustration from the pantry.’

Not exactly a conventional pensioner, Brenda’s purple-streaked, silvery hair fell down her back in a tidy plait, and her slightly hunched body was swathed in a rainbow of cotton garments. A silver locket was swinging from her neck but she tucked it out of sight as she walked towards the road. Her sharp eyes focused on the young lad and he wriggled uncomfortably. Juggling mattress and doorknob, the pair wrestled their way into number twenty-four.