‘Are you okay, love?’
Georgie gasped and jumped. Hot liquid rushed over her hand, and she righted her mug, wiped her hand on her jeans. She shrugged free of her daydream to find a woman leaning towards her. She wore a crisp white apron over street clothes and had an air force-style envelope cap perched on her mop of brown hair. Georgie recalled she’d been served by her earlier from behind the bakery counter.
‘You look like shit.’ The woman smiled, revealing buck-teeth which strangely suited her, and her eyes crinkled, taking the edge off her words.
Georgie returned the smile, hoping the bakery assistant would leave it at that, relieved when she flapped her dishcloth and re-entered the building.
Alone again with her coffee, her thoughts reverted to Bullock, a tiny hamlet at the base of
