Free Summer at the Lake by Erica James

making a pair of fingerless gloves for her niece – the solitary Christmas card on the mantelpiece, the wonky lamp, the candles, and the tatty beige carpet with its blackened edges which the previous owner had left behind and which Floriana longed to be rid of. Taking up the carpet was another job on her To Do list, a list that seemed to grow on a daily basis. If only the number of available hours in the day grew exponentially. She didn’t know what sort of house Miss Silcox lived in, but she guessed it was a lot grander than her much-loved Toy House.
    ‘May I ask you something?’ Miss Silcox asked when her scrutiny had been exhausted and she had placed with deliberate care her finished mug of hot chocolate on the table. ‘It’s rather personal, so please tell me to mind my own business if I’ve gone too far.’
    Floriana nodded, and tucked her feet under her on the sofa, curious to hear what this woman considered to be personal. Maybe she was going to offer some interior design tips.
    ‘It was at the time of the accident,’ Miss Silcox said, ‘when Adam was ringing for an ambulance and when you were not quite compos mentis; you kept repeating something.’
    ‘Really? What was it?’
    ‘I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, but I think it was a name. Does the name Seb mean anything to you?’

Chapter Nine
    Floriana first laid eyes on Sebastian Hughes when she was fourteen years old and was helping out in her father’s shop during the long summer holiday.
    Day & Son had been a family-run business since 1872 when Floriana’s great-grandfather had opened a small hardware store selling ironmongery and decorating equipment. By the time her father took it over, not only had the Kent village of Stanhurst expanded to being a small town, but the shop had spread to the two premises either side and its stock was comprised of a vast selection of DIY equipment and general household items, including an extensive range of kitchenware and garden furniture. Then last year, after several approaches from a large supermarket chain, her father reluctantly accepted an offer to sell the shop so the site could be converted into a sizeable convenience store. It wasn’t a decision he made lightly, and not surprisingly it wasn’t met with universal approval.
    But back when Floriana was a child, and just as soon as she and her sister were old enough, they had both worked Saturdays and holidays in the shop and on this particular busy afternoon when Floriana was filling the shelves with pest control products, she noticed a boy about the same age as herself searching for something on a nearby shelf. She’d never seen him before, so took a moment to give him the full once-over. Like most teenagers, his jeans were baggy and where they dragged on the ground they were torn and frayed at the heels of his trainers. He was wearing a black T-shirt, the front of which showed a skull with a crown of barbed wire. His hair was thick and messy, as if he hadn’t brushed it in days. He was, she thought, not bad-looking in a quirky sort of way.
    She watched him take a mousetrap from the shelf and to her amusement he pulled back the metal spring and stuck his finger experimentally in the bit where the mouse would meet its snappy end. She waited for the inevitable yelp, but it didn’t happen. Removing his finger, he released the spring, then casually slipped the trap into his pocket.
    Petty thieving went on all the time in the shop, but never had Floriana actually witnessed somebody do it right under her nose. Shocked she looked around for one of the full-time assistants, but there was nobody else about. Determined he wasn’t going to get away with it, she stopped what she was doing and followed him as he coolly ambled towards the main door.
    Out on the street, she tapped him on the shoulder. ‘I think you’ve forgotten something, haven’t you?’ she said, mimicking the snooty tone of voice her sister used whenever she was telling her off about