“Oh, I’m sure you’ll have gotten the job,” said Griffin, incredibly insincerely. Nina realized for the first time that he’d cut off his ponytail.

Her phone rang. They both looked at each other and froze.

“They’ll be calling the successful people first,” said Griffin immediately. “Well done. It’ll definitely be you. Congratulations. Maybe they wanted a way back to the old-fashioned style all along.”

“I don’t recognize the number,” said Nina, looking at the phone as though it were a live snake. “But it’s not Birmingham.”

“No, it won’t be,” said Griffin. “It’ll be centralized in some Swindon office or something.”

Nina picked up the phone and carefully pressed the green button.

“Nina Redmond?”

The line was crackly and unclear, and at first it was hard to hear anything in the noisy coffee shop.

“Hello? Hello?”

“Aye, hello there,” came the voice. “Is that Nina?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Aye, listen. It’s Alasdair McRae.”

The name meant nothing to Nina, but the Scottish accent was familiar. Her brow furrowed.

“Hello?”

“Aye, the landlord, you know. Of the Rob Roy.”

Nina couldn’t help smiling. “Hello! Did I leave something behind? You can keep the book.” She hadn’t had the heart to take it away in the end.

“Oh, it was brilliant, that book. Edwin passed it on to me when he was done with it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Then I passed it on to Wullie.”

“Oh.”

“Aye, well, he was in, looking glum.”

“Well, books are for everyone,” said Nina, trying to be charitable.

“Anyway, listen. Me and the lads were thinking.”

It took Nina a moment to realize that by “the lads” he meant the two old duffers who sat by the bar.

“Oh yes?”

“Listen, that Wullie, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s had a sad life, you know.”

Well, I’m having one right now, Nina found herself thinking, quite shocked that the thought had flickered across her mind.

“Mmm?” she said.

“Well, we reckon the three of us . . . we can buy it off him, then sell it on to you. You know, if you like.”

There was a pause. Nina didn’t know what to say. It was so unexpected.

“Not to make a profit, like. I mean, I reckon we’d probably get it cheaper off him than you would. Just to get him to change his mind about selling it to a lass.”

“Well, that’s . . .” Nina was still speechless.

“We just thought you looked like a lassie who needed a hand. And we really liked that book you left us. I mean, we’d quite like more books.” Nina had told Alasdair the plan and he had not stopped badgering her since. “And that van is an eyesore in the village. And he was wrong not to sell it to you when you wanted it.”

This was clearly a long speech for the landlord, who sounded embarrassed. Nina rushed in to reassure him.

“Are you sure? That would be really—”

“I mean, only if you haven’t found another one you like . . .”

“I haven’t, no. I haven’t found another one.”

Nina looked up. The rain was belting against the windows of the coffee shop now; every time the door opened, the wind howled in. The place was absolutely packed, a huge noisy line at the counter, children crying, people looking cross and getting in each other’s way. She looked at Griffin, who was checking his phone. Suddenly he jumped up, full of delight, and punched the air.

Nina blinked. “Listen, Alasdair, that’s so kind of you. I’ll need to think about it. Can I call you back?”

“Aye, of course.”

He told her the price he thought he could get the van for, which was way below what she’d expected, and she put the phone down.

“I got it!” said Griffin, his face pink with emotion. “YAY!”

Gradually he lowered his arms, looking at Nina. “I mean,” he stuttered. “I mean, I’m sorry. I mean, they’ve probably made a mistake. You’d have been way better.”

Nina glanced down at her phone. A new e-mail was blinking. She didn’t even have to open it. “I regret to inform you . . .” was the first line that came across in the preview screen.

“Well done,” she said to Griffin, almost entirely meaning it.

“I’ve got to head up a ‘dynamic young multifunctional team,’” read Griffin excitedly. “Of course it will probably be absolutely awful . . . I’m really sorry,” he said as he saw her face.

“It’s okay,” said Nina. “Really. Someone had to get it. I’m glad it was you. I would have been hopeless heading up a multi-whatever.”

“Yeah,” said Griffin. “You would have hated it. I’m sure I’ll hate it, too.”

His fingers moved furiously, and Nina realized he had already put it up on Facebook. She could hear the “like” button starting to ping.

“Listen, I’d better go,” she said quietly.

“No, don’t,” said Griffin. “Come on, please. I’ll buy you a drink somewhere.”

“No thanks,” said Nina. “Honestly, I’m all right. I’m fine.”

Griffin glanced down at his phone again. “Come on, a bunch of my friends are just around the corner. Join us for a pint. We’ll plan your next move. I must know someone who can help.”

He was more energized than Nina had seen him in months. She desperately wanted a cup of tea and a quiet sit-down to think things over.

“Really, I have to get back,” she said. “Well done again, though.”

He stood up as she put her coat on and moved to leave. She gave him a half smile as they stood waiting for a parade of strollers to squeeze past them.

“Nina,” said Griffin, suddenly emboldened as she finally moved forward.

She turned. “Yes?”

“Now that we’re not working together . . . now that we’re no longer colleagues and I broke up with my girlfriend . . . will you come for a drink with me? You know. Just a drink? Please?”

She looked at his pale, anxious face and felt suddenly awkward, and slightly more determined. For just a second she hovered, thinking. Then she decided.