and some clean clothes.’
‘Thank you, Malcolm. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Hey, any time. I’m always happy to help,’ he said, stroking Elvis.
Regan bit her lip. ‘Actually, there is something else. I was thinking of applying for a market stall. Any tips?’ It was cheeky, but you didn’t get anywhere if you didn’t ask.
‘Sure,’ said Malcolm, looking chuffed to have been asked. ‘Pull up a chair.’ He passed her a plastic garden chair and she sat down behind his bread stall.
Ten minutes later, her brain was overflowing and a ripple of excitement was swirling in her stomach. She had never been surer of anything in her life: she was going to apply to be a market stallholder.
‘I need to go. But thank you so much, Malcolm. I’m definitely going to apply.’
‘Good on you,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘And get your business registered with the council.’ His head snapped in the direction of someone approaching. ‘Stand by your beds,’ said Malcolm, half to Regan and half to the traders chatting nearby. The others looked up and scurried back to their stalls.
Regan followed Malcolm’s gaze. A rotund woman with masses of dark grey hair bouncing about her shoulders was bearing down on them.
Regan noted Malcolm’s shoulders tense as he straightened the granary loaves in front of him. She could sense the tension growing until the woman marched past.
‘Morning,’ said Malcolm.
‘Malcolm,’ said the woman, her voice formal as she continued on her way. Malcolm let out a long breath and his shoulders relaxed.
‘Who’s she?’ asked Regan, watching the woman gesticulate wildly at another stallholder.
‘Boadicea,’ he said, absentmindedly, whilst he too watched the drama unfold.
‘Isn’t it pronounced Boudicca these days?’ asked Regan.
‘What?’ he turned to Regan. ‘Not when I was at school.’
Regan opened her mouth but decided against labouring the point. ‘But who is she?’
‘The market manager. Someone you don’t ever want to get on the wrong side of.’
Regan was grateful to have the café to keep her busy and take her mind off poor Kevin. Penny told her that, whilst she’d been on her break, Charlie had called in to say he was cooking dinner and she was welcome to go round. She’d been disappointed that he’d not waited to see her, but she guessed he was busy. The invite also sounded more casual than she would have liked, but maybe that had got lost in translation. Perhaps she was looking for problems? She had a distinct feeling that Charlie was cooling off, and with everything else, she didn’t want to contemplate that. She’d grown very attached to him very quickly.
Regan tracked down Kevin after work, returning Elvis, who greeted him like he’d been at war, not in a shelter for the day. Kevin had had a hot meal but he still took the pepper and hummus wrap she’d brought him. He had a hooded look about him and he appeared distant, which wasn’t surprising given what had happened to him. She didn’t like leaving him, but he insisted he was all right although his flinching when he took a deep breath told her different.
Her biggest worry was that the youths would come back, but Kevin assured her he’d be sleeping in a different place tonight and that was one of the reasons he took care to move about. It upset her that people found entertainment in harming another human being and it made her feel helpless. He’d been pleased to be reunited with Elvis, who himself was over the moon, having been tied up most of the day with only the occasional visitor when Regan or Penny went to the bins.
She was all the more glad of Charlie’s invite because she didn’t want to be on her own. What she really wanted was to have a good rant over a nice bottle of wine. And a snog, obviously – and possibly some bedroom action.
Regan knocked on Charlie’s door and held back her desire to launch herself at him the minute he opened it.
‘Hey,’ he said. She went in for a full-on snog but he managed to keep her at arm’s length, kiss her lightly and turn away. ‘Come on through.’ She faltered for a second at his coolness.
The small table in the kitchen was in darkness and set for dinner. A candle was burning, making the room smell faintly of oranges and look almost bistro-like in its flickering glow. ‘Wow, this is lovely,’ she said, impressed he’d gone to this much effort. ‘It looks very romantic.’ She sidled over to