Armed with a map the barmaid had hastily scribbled on the back of her order pad, I found Carol's bed and breakfast within fifteen minutes. Melrose was a chocolate-box cottage on a quiet lane, white with wooden beams and a thatched roof, straight out of the pages of one of those fancy magazines dentists kept in the waiting room to remind you how inadequate your life was. Even in winter, the garden looked beautiful, all manicured lawn and neatly edged flower borders. A stone cupid peeped out from between the bare branches, his arrow aimed straight at my fucking heart.

The curtains twitched, and I'd just lifted my hand up to knock when the door swung open and a tiny lady greeted me with a wide smile and curious eyes.

"Hello, dear. Elsa from The Coach and Horses said you'd be stopping by. I've opened up a room for you, and the electric blanket's already on."

Why wasn't I surprised she knew I was coming?

"Ashlyn Hale. Or just Ash, if you like. I wasn't sure you'd have a room available at such short notice."

"Oh, I'm rarely fully booked. Most people who come to Lower Foxford are visiting family or friends, so they already have somewhere to stay. I just run this place as a hobby. I get lonely on my own." With her cheerful demeanour, she'd keep smiling through Armageddon.

"I won't be great company, I'm afraid."

"Don't you worry about that, dearie. Elsa said you'd had a tiff with your boyfriend. You just need a good night's sleep and everything'll look rosier in the morning."

Yeah, right. Unless reincarnation was a thing, we were shit out of luck on that one.

"Let's hope so, eh?"

She must have sensed my hesitation. "It was a big argument, then?"

"Er..."

"You don't have to give me the details now. We can have a nice chat about it over dinner. I'm making toad-in-the-hole to start and chocolate brownies with ice cream for after. The ice cream's from my own special recipe."

"I ate a really big lunch—I'm not sure I've got room for dinner as well." Or the interrogation that would inevitably come with it.

"You need to eat." Carol reached out and patted my stomach. "Look at you—you're already fading away, and that's not good for a girl. I'll show you up to your room. You'll have time to take a bath, and I'll knock on your door when dinner's ready."

Before I could get a word in edgeways, I found myself being marched up the stairs. What was the point in trying to argue? Instinct told me Carol could outmanoeuvre even the most hardened negotiator. Next time my company had a hostage situation, they should call her in. She'd probably win the bastards over with cookies.

The room may have been basic and a little too pink, but it represented a definite step up from my digs in London. I tested the weight of the chest of drawers. Yes, I could drag that across the door at night. Anything to keep myself inside. By the time Carol came back, I'd checked my exit routes and fitted in a quick shower with freesia-scented shampoo.

Carol held off on the questioning through the main course, and I suppose I should have been thankful for that. At least her brief reprieve gave me time to come up with a cover story.

Usually, thinking up a plausible tale on the fly came naturally, but today I struggled. My heart wasn't in it, and Carol's incessant chattering about the inhabitants of Lower Foxford as I'd picked at my toad-in-the-hole had left my concentration in tatters.

"Marjorie Smith crashed her car into a tree last week after she left The Coach and Horses. I'm not saying she'd been drinking, but it's quite a coincidence, don't you think?"

"Mmm, sounds like it."

"And Vera saw Mrs. Melton's daughter in the chemist buying a pregnancy test kit this morning. She's only been dating the butcher's son for a month, and they're not even married." Carol shook her head. "Youngsters these days. Always rushing into things."

My initial suspicions had been right—Carol wasn't just a branch of the local gossip tree, she was the trunk. Everyone in the village, and undoubtedly half the people from the surrounding area, would soon know anything I told her.

As I pondered my escape, Carol bustled off to the kitchen and came back with the brownies. Once she'd deposited a family-sized portion in front of me, she couldn't contain herself any longer.

"So, what happened with this boyfriend of yours then?"

I took a deep breath, looked her in the eye and did what came naturally. I lied.

"My fiancé. Ex-fiancé." I arranged my face into a suitably devastated expression and added a sniff for effect. "Three days ago, I got a migraine while I was out shopping, so I went home to rest, but as soon as I walked into the house, I heard noises coming from upstairs."

These brownies were pretty damn good. Maybe I hadn't lost my appetite after all, merely misplaced it. I forked in another mouthful while Carol salivated for the good bits.

"I almost called 911 because the house was meant to be empty, but then I figured I'd probably just left the TV on. It was supposed to have one of those energy-saving timers, but that never worked properly, and... Anyhow, I crept upstairs and realised the noises were coming from our bedroom. Kind of...grunting." I screwed my eyes shut in mock disgust. "When I pushed the door open, Jamie was in there doing the deed with another woman."

Carol's mouth dropped open in horror. Or perhaps glee, since this was gossip gold.

"What did you do?"

I gazed past her. Lying was always easier if you didn't look the person in the eye.

"First, I froze, but then I turned to run to my best friend's house. Beth lived three doors up, and we'd been so close since we met at a yoga class three years ago and she recommended these really comfortable pants that—" I pursed my lips. "It was her! When Jamie moved, it was her underneath him. In my bed!"

"Did you kick his ass?" Carol asked.

I turned my laugh into a cough. This imaginary situation was anything but funny, but seriously? How many sweet little old ladies said that? She'd been watching too many US dramas.

"If I could turn the clock back, I'd have booted him up the backside, but I wasn't thinking straight. I mean, they were naked. No, I ran right out of there."

Carol reached over and squeezed my hand. "That's quite understandable, dear."

"Well, I threw my engagement ring at him and left, but now I wish I'd kept it. I could have pawned the diamond."

"You know for next time."

Next time? Boy, she had a high opinion of me, didn't she?

"I guess."

"But how did you end up in Lower Foxford?"

"I got worried he might come after me, so I ran to the bus stop and jumped on the first bus to arrive. Turned out it was going to the airport. So I got on a plane. Then a train, then a bus, and then I ended up here." I gave a helpless shrug. "I'm a bit lost."

I kept that last part close to the truth. Pretending was easier if you threw in a few facts, I knew that from years of experience. And when I first met my husband, he'd imparted a few words of wisdom: if you can only be good at one thing, be good at lying. Because if you're good at lying, you're good at everything. Words to live by. I'd taken his advice to heart, and like everything else I did, I practised. Practice made perfect.

"You said you flew?" Carol asked. "Where did you live?"

"In America."

"Oh my, that's a long way to come. No wonder you look tired."

That was my cue to yawn. "I haven't gotten much sleep over the past few days."

"So, what are you planning to do now? Are you going to go back home and sort things out?"

I shook my head. "I never want to see that pig again. There's not much to go back to, anyway."

"What about your job?"

"The house was Jamie's, and I didn't work. He said I didn't need to, that he earned enough for both of us. I thought we'd be together forever. How could I have been so stupid?"

"One of those control freaks, was he?"

"Something like that. I'm glad I scraped my house key along his Mercedes on my way down the driveway."

Carol clapped her hands with glee. "Did you do anything else?"

"No, that was it, but the scratch went from the bumper to the boot."

Ashlyn was pretty tame. If these events had been real, darling Jamie would have been fighting for his release from prison in a country that paid lip service to human rights.

Carol tilted her head to one side, but her tight grey curls didn't move. "You say you came from America, but why do you have an English accent?"

"Because I grew up in London. I moved to the States to be with Jamie when I was twenty-one."

"Twenty-one? Golly, you were together a long time then."

"A third of my life: wasted." I gave a convincing groan. "It took him eight years to propose. That alone should have told me something, right? I think he only gave me a ring because I talked about getting a job. He obviously figured that if I was his wife, I'd be back under his thumb, and I fell for it. I'm an idiot."

"They say love is blind. You're not the only woman to have the wool pulled over her eyes by a man thinking with his little head instead of his big one."

Oh, Carol. What would a normal girl do right now? Giggle. So I giggled.

"I know, but it doesn't make it hurt any less."

"Well, we'll just have to take your mind off things. Keep you busy. That's what worked best for me after I lost my Len. We were married for forty years."

Forty years, and she still talked fondly of him. I felt a pang of jealousy. If my husband had lived, would we have lasted four decades? I liked to think so.

"I'm so sorry, Carol. Losing Len must have been far worse than what happened to me."

In fact, it was closer to the truth than I cared to admit.

"It happened almost ten years ago now, dear. Time's the greatest healer, but my friends were a huge help too. At first, I didn't know how to go on without him, but now I can look back and smile at the good times. Nobody will ever replace Len, but I know he wouldn't have wanted me to sit around moping, so I've filled my life with other things."

Her look turned wistful, and I knew she was thinking of her late husband. I couldn't help thinking of mine too. Was there life after death? I'd never believed in it, but now I wondered. Was he up there, willing me to get my act together? I hoped Carol was right and time would heal my cracks, because I didn't see what else would help. I gave a sniff, a genuine one this time, and Carol snapped her eyes back to mine.

"Enough about me," she said. "We need to get you back on your feet. Tomorrow I have a fundraising lunch for church and then bingo at the village hall in the evening. You can come to those. It'll do you good."

Was she serious? Seniors' bingo and a church fundraiser? Apart from the funeral, my last visit to a place of worship had involved a sting operation on a pastor who liked the younger members of his congregation a little too much.

And by lunch, did Carol mean making it or eating it? I could manage the eating part, but cooking had never been my strong suit.

"It's ever so nice of you to offer, but I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

"Nonsense, it's no trouble at all. It'll be terrific fun."

Well, if she said so. In my current state, I didn't have the energy to argue with the force that was Carol. Tagging along seemed like the easier option.

"Another custard cream, dear?"

A white-haired lady held out a plate with one hand while pushing her glasses back up her nose with the other.

"I've already had six, thanks."

I felt hideously out of place at the church lunch, firstly because I was the only person not wearing chintz, and secondly because I was the youngest by at least three decades. The way everyone stared at me, I could have been a zoo exhibit.

Maybe I should've invested in a plaque to save answering endless questions.

Name: Ashlyn Hale

Species: Barely human

Habitat: Found on every continent, usually in a hostile environment.

Traits: Excellent hunter, adopts camouflage when threatened. Thought processes can be unexpected.

After four cups of tea, two trips to the toilet, and the aforementioned biscuits, I was grateful to escape to the kitchen. Please, someone give me a damn knife.

"Can you make the shortcrust pastry?" a lady with a purple rinse asked.

I stared blankly at her. Didn't pastry come frozen in packets?

"You don't know how to do pastry?"

"Sorry."

"Well, can you help chop the vegetables?"

Oh yes, I could do that. Playing with knives was a particular skill of mine. I forced myself to slow down, but I still sliced three cucumbers perfectly in under two minutes, avoiding the temptation to close my eyes while I did so. Didn't want to scare the old dudes.

Lunch took the entire afternoon, and afterwards, most of the people present went straight from the church hall to the village hall for bingo. I'd expected a subdued affair, but I'd underestimated this crowd.

The alcohol flowed, and one old gent produced a couple of bottles of home-brew. I had no idea what was in it, but from the way it burned my throat it had to be 160 proof. I practically had to carry Carol when we left.

"Don't forget your raffle prizes," one of her friends said.

I'd tried to leave them behind on purpose, but now I pasted on a smile.

"How very remiss of me."

I tucked my toiletry basket and Carol's fruit cake under the other arm, and Carol wrinkled her nose.

"Mildred Armitage made that. Her cakes are always far too dry."

I caught Mildred watching us from over her beak-like nose. "Sorry, but we'd better take it back with us. You can use it as a doorstop."

I thought after that evening I'd earn a reprieve from more socialising, but no such luck.

"The tea dance is today at three," Carol told me over breakfast the next morning.

I stifled a groan. Where did Carol get the energy? I hadn't slept well, and the last thing I wanted was to go out again.

"I'll have to pass."

"You have something else on?"

"I fancy some time on my own."

"Don't be silly, dear. Sitting alone won't help matters." She snapped her fingers. "Vera mentioned yesterday that her son's looking for a nice young lady. I'll invite him over to keep you company."

Spend the evening with a random bloke? No thanks. I went to the tea dance.

Between eating cakes and the endless cuppas, I gained a few new friends by taking some of the old boys for a spin—well, more of a shuffle—around the dance floor. I'd been a bit concerned about their artificial hips and the like, but Carol insisted it would be okay.

"Are their hearts up to this?" I asked.

"If they're not, at least they'll die happy."

My husband had taught me to ballroom dance soon after we met, insisting it was a useful skill for undercover work at posh functions. I'd grown to love it, and even though he pretended it was a chore, I knew he'd secretly enjoyed it too. And boy, could he move. He'd had a particularly dirty tango in him, but we'd reserved that for the privacy of our own home.

Those memories overshadowed the evening, because now we'd never dance again.

The day after the dance found Carol and me at the parish council meeting, which wasn't so much a meeting as a bunch of self-important idiots bickering.

"I'm not on the council myself, dear," Carol said. "But the Women's Institute has an outing there each month. The arguments can be quite entertaining. It's a bit like Jeremy Kyle but with better refreshments."

She was right. It was all I could do to stop myself from smacking their heads together after an argument about whose turn it was to organise the litter patrol for the Best Kept Village competition.

I hated to admit it, but Carol's distraction technique had some merit. With all the bullshit she organised to fill my days, I didn't have time to dwell on more painful subjects. Still, I couldn't help wishing for something more interesting to do. The old guys were kind, but I felt out of place being the youngest by thirty years, and I could easily live without discussions over the best brand of incontinence pad. Perhaps if they drank less tea, they wouldn't need to worry about that. Yes, I was English, but I was sick of bloody tea. My palate craved a decent espresso, but asking for one would have been sacrilegious around here.

And while I could cope with my waking hours, the nights gave me more problems. Rather than sleeping, I'd lie awake for hours, thoughts tumbling through a mind filled with darkness. How had my life turned into such a mess so quickly? And more importantly, what was I going to do about it?