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When Wilma announced that it was time for tea and scones after a busy morning sorting stock at Second Chances, Julia was more than ready for a break. She’d come in on a Friday especially to help with the enormous donation that they had received from the estate of an elderly woman who had lived several miles outside of Berrywick. They’d received boxes of things from the attic of her home – including scrapbooks and clothes and toys and even a guitar covered in stickers. But it seemed that nobody had dusted the boxes or sorted the goods before sending them off to Second Chances. It always made Julia a bit melancholy to see people’s precious possessions given away without a second thought.

She washed her hands, the soapy water running grey from the dust, and put the scones on a plate. Diane made the tea, and brought three mugs to the counter. When they came out from the storeroom, Wilma was doing calf-raises at the counter, lifting herself up on her toes, then down again, her left arm with its chunky sports watch swinging at her side. She was trying to rack up more steps on the step-counter app! Diane and Julia pretended not to have noticed, and Wilma pretended she hadn’t seen them noticing. It was in everyone’s best interests.

As part of her not-noticing act, Julia gazed fixedly out of the window, taking a close interest in the passing parade while chewing a scone, contemplatively. There was an ancient man in a tweed jacket walking a Scottie dog in a matching tweed jacket. There was a teenager on a bicycle, both hands off the handlebars, sending a text message as he pedalled along. There was a couple on the far side of the road, walking slowly, heads down in deep conversation. The man was closer to Julia, and although she couldn’t see his face, she recognised something familiar about his shape and movements, even at a distance. But she couldn’t place him until he lifted his head. It was Oscar! Now there was a coincidence if ever there was one. She was pleased to see that he was out in the world – she’d worried he might have gone into hibernation in his terrible state. Pure curiosity had her follow them with her eyes until they were almost out of sight.

She swallowed her last gulp of tea, jumped to her feet and said, ‘Back in a minute.’ She left Diane and Wilma in surprised silence, their scones poised en route to their open mouths. Once she was out on the road, Julia wasn’t quite sure why she was there. She just had an instinct that she wanted to say hello to Oscar, and check up on him, but it seemed rather odd now, especially as he was with a friend. She hesitated, and watched the couple walk away from her, away from the village centre, towards the less busy periphery.

She was about to turn away when the woman tucked her hand under Oscar’s arm, and held him as they walked. It was an intimate gesture. Or was it a supportive, steadying one? Julia was pondering this when the couple stopped at a corner. The woman momentarily turned towards Oscar, showing her profile to Julia for the first time. It was, unmistakably, Jane Powell! Julia watched her say a few words to Oscar and give him a goodbye kiss. Then she crossed the road and walked away.

Jane Powell kissing Oscar goodbye the day after her husband’s funeral. That certainly wasn’t a sight that Julia could have predicted. It nagged at her, and so she continued after Oscar. He was a good way ahead of her, and even walking at a fast pace, she caught up slowly. Her breath was coming quite heavily, she was almost panting, and it was distracting her from her thoughts about Oscar and Jane.

She didn’t know what to think. Was it strange that they should be out and about together, the day after the funeral of Jane’s husband, who had died at Oscar’s hand, so to speak? Of course not. They had known each other for years, after all. And they had shared the same trauma, although in very different ways.

Earlier that week, when Oscar had been ranting and raving about being the murderer, Julia had been quite sure he wasn’t. But now she wasn’t so sure. Had it been an elaborate ruse to turn attention away from the possibility that he was telling the truth? Was there still a spark between Oscar and Jane, that he had decided to take extreme steps to reignite?

After a minute or two Julia was close enough to call out to Oscar. She put her cupped hand to her mouth, but stopped when she saw him enter Blooming Marvels, the local florist. Julia slowed her pace as she neared the pots that were artfully arranged along the pavement, and the baskets hanging from hooks on the front wall. They were a glorious sight, whatever the season, bursting with a profusion of colourful flowers and trailing plants. She was hesitant to follow Oscar into the shop. She dithered outside, admiring the pansies with their cheerful little faces. They had not a care in the world, she mused.

The decision of whether or not to speak to him was taken out of her hands by Oscar, who emerged from the shop .

‘Julia!’ he said. ‘What a coincidence. Are you buying flowers?’

‘Oh no. Not buying flowers. Just passing by. A coincidence, yes. And you? Buying flowers?’

She noticed that his hands were empty.

‘Yes,’ he said, offering no further information, just a shy grin.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Better, I think. My talk to Dr O’Connor helped.’

‘Good, Oscar, I’m glad. I hope you feel better.’

‘It’s all been a terrible shock, that’s all. But in the end, it will all be for the best,’ said Oscar, somewhat cryptically. Before Julia could ask him what he meant, he gave a little wave. ‘Goodbye, then, Julia. Thanks for all your help.’ Oscar turned back the way they’d come, back to the village, and his house. Julia looked at her watch. She’d been gone from Second Chances for fifteen minutes. Wilma would be wondering what on earth she was up to. She should really get back. But first…

Angela was behind the long wooden trestle table that ran almost the width of the little shop and served as desk and workbench. She was dressed, as usual, in a stylishly distressed pale denim work apron, her blonde hair in a low ponytail, tied with a piece of straw twine. She greeted Julia without ceasing her work, picking up a lily from a selection in a bucket on the table next to her and pushing it into the arrangement she was making. Next, she picked up a sprig of russet leaves. Her method seemed entirely random; in fact she hardly seemed to be looking when she reached for the next flower, or decided where to put it.

‘There you go, I reckon that’s about right,’ she said. Her arrangement looked perfect, fresh and loose and wild, a chaotic mix of foliage, grass and flowers. ‘All ready to be delivered straight to the lucky recipient.’

‘Someone’s going to be very happy with that,’ said Julia. ‘It’s marvellous.’

‘Pretty, isn’t it? What do you think of those huge pale hydrangeas? They’re a new strain, just came in a few weeks ago. I was just saying to the previous customer that I’ve been using them in everything, I can’t get enough of them. So he’s getting one in the delivery he ordered, too.’

‘Oscar?’

‘Yes, Oscar. Sweet chap, and a good customer.’

‘I’lljust pop the card on the bunch, and then I’ll help you,’ said Angela, patting the workbench, looking for something. ‘Now, where’s the card? He put it down here not a minute ago.’

A corner of paper sticking out from under a basket of grasses caught Julia’s eye. ‘Is this it?’ she said, pushing the basket off what turned out to be a small rectangle of cardboard with a few words in a small, angular hand. She made out a capital J at the top and his name, Oscar, at the bottom, with an X below it, before Angela scooped it up.

‘There we have it,’ she said, pushing the card into a little envelope with the Blooming Marvels daisy logo on it, and a couple of lines of writing which Julia assumed must be an address.

‘Now, what can I do for you?’ asked Angela. ‘Special occasion? Gift?’

‘Um…’ said Julia. ‘No occasion. Just something cheerful for the house. Something like what you did for Oscar would be perfect.’