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‘You think I don’t know that? Girlfriend, you’re pricklier than a prickly pear. Luckily, I don’t scare away so easy.’

She bit her lip, and then the words came blurting out. ‘It’s all such a mess, Marigold.’

‘I know, honey.’

‘I just wanted Jill to be happy, calm, well cared for.’

‘And she was, Vera.’

‘Not always. Not when those idiots in charge of Acacia View were underpaying their staff and under-resourcing their facility.’

‘Always. Always by you.’

Was that true? She’d been so immersed in her career when Jill first showed signs she could no longer live alone. Had she taken such little care choosing a home for her because she was too involved with her career to make proper enquiries?

Vera eyed Marigold. ‘I suppose you know my trial date has been scheduled for a couple of weeks from now.’

‘You suppose right. This is a small town, honey. It’s a miracle I don’t know what colour your underwear is.’

She sighed. ‘Crap.’

Marigold chuckled. ‘People here care, that’s all. They read the papers. They see a name they know, they sit up and take notice. They see someone through the kitchen window hanging out their washing, and they run over and share the news.’

Vera was surprised into a laugh. ‘I guess I hadn’t thought about that before I moved here. I came for the peace and quiet. For the promise offered up in the Connolly House brochure. For the opportunity to be an unknown person who could be left completely alone.’

‘Pet, if you wanted to be lonely you should have stayed in the city.’

‘Alone. Not lonely.’

‘They walk the same path, Vera. But now you’ve set your feet in a whole new direction. How’s that quilt coming along?’

‘Slowly. As soon as I pull it out, the cat waddles over and plonks herself down on it.’

‘Hmm. You sure the cat’s not just your excuse? What’s the hold-up? Fear of failure? Fear of success?’

Vera hauled open the oven door and began sliding in trays of éclair mix. ‘It’s not fear, Marigold. I’ve just, you know, been busy. I’m here before dawn most mornings. My aunt just died, and anytime that I’m not busy cooking or grieving, I’m wondering how in hell this café is going to manage with me on the wrong side of tempered steel bars.’

‘You’ll employ a cook. That young man Graeme may look as pretty as a peacock, but he’s an operator. He’ll manage.’

Vera shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I’m worried. The income from this place was never for me. I had to make sure I had money coming in to pay Jill’s medical bills if I was … put away.’

Marigold frowned. ‘You were shouldering that burden on your own? What, Jill had no funds?’

She shrugged. ‘She did, once. But they’re long gone. Dementia’s a brute, but for all its destructive force, it’s got no speed to it. Five years of high-needs care, and live-in help before that, and Jill’s money from selling up her apartment was all gone.’

‘Honey, don’t ever wonder if you did enough. You did wonderfully, do you hear me?Wonderfully.’

‘I hope so. Thanks, Marigold.’

‘Me and Kev would feel lucky to be so loved. Being childless has its own rules, Vera. You’ve done your aunt proud. But I still want you to finish that quilt, you hear? Whose fabric got cut into squares for it?’

She smiled. ‘About everybody’s by now. Jill’s, yours.’

‘Uh-huh. And that red paisley we cut up last week was out of Mrs Juggins’s stash. A dozen of this town’s residents have their fabric scraps in my craft box. They’re all in that quilt, Vera. You have to stop messing around and finish it. Put a bit ofyouin it.’

She grinned, amused despite herself. ‘You think I should cut up an apron and stitch it in?’

‘Maybe. If you like. I would, but then I’m a sentimental old fool who made a quilt out of my goddaughter’s flannel pyjamas. You know the craft group rule: every stitch is a good stitch, Vera,especiallythe wonky ones. Promise me you’ll see it done.’