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open and Griff Gibson walked inside. Everyone turned to look at him because Griff was a striking figure – a tall man with corn-coloured hair, wearing a black leather jacket, black jeans and black boots.
    He sat down beside Sheridan and hugged her.
    ‘How’s my honey?’ he asked.
    ‘Not good,’ said Talia over Sheridan’s head. ‘She switched from Bud to Jemmies half an hour ago.’
    ‘Whiskey!’ exclaimed Griff. ‘She doesn’t drink whiskey.’
    ‘Only on shitty days,’ mumbled Sheridan. ‘And this has been a shitty day.’
    ‘I know,’ said Griff. ‘But you’ll get over it. They don’t deserve you anyway.’
    ‘Stop with the trying-to-be-nice-to-me stuff,’ she said. ‘They made some kind of commercial decision that I wasn’t good enough. That I’m a loser.’
    ‘That’s nonsense,’ said Griff. ‘You’re not a loser to me.’
    ‘But I am to them,’ said Sheridan.
    ‘She keeps talking like this,’ Talia told him. ‘Obsessing about winners and losers. Blaming it on herself.’
    ‘For crying out loud, Sher, you’ve done a cracking job,’ Griff said.
    ‘Still not good enough.’ Sheridan straightened up and rubbed her eyes. ‘Stop talking about me as though I’m not here.’ She sniffed and looked blearily at them. ‘Sorry. I know I’m being an arse. I don’t mean to be. I just can’t help it.’
    ‘It’s perfectly understandable,’ said Griff. ‘C’mon. Let’s go back to my place. You’ll feel a lot better there.’
    Talia looked at him gratefully.
    ‘I need to phone my parents first,’ said Sheridan. ‘I have to tell them.’
    ‘Leave it till the morning,’ advised Talia. ‘I know how your mum feels about drink. If she hears you now, she’ll know you’ve been hitting the bottle. Probably best not.’
    Sheridan’s sigh came from the very depths of her being. ‘Probably. Thanks, Talia. You’re a lifesaver.’
    ‘Yes, you are,’ said Griff. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Talia. Meantime, I’ll get her home.’
    ‘Thanks,’ said Talia again. She stood up and so did Sheridan. Talia put her arms around her and hugged her. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ she told her friend. ‘
You’re
going to be fine.’
    ‘Maybe,’ said Sheridan as she sniffed again. ‘I know it should be an opportunity. I just don’t know what kind of opportunity it could possibly be.’

Chapter 3
    Nina Fallon worried at night. She didn’t have time for worrying during the day because she was far too busy with running the guesthouse (even though that brought its own regular panic attacks, which sometimes left her frantically gulping for air); but in the dark, when everything was silent and she was alone in her bed, all the things that worried her most crowded her mind and kept her awake long after she wanted to be in a dreamless sleep.
    She usually worried about the same things but not necessarily in the same order. The guest house, naturally. Her children, always. Her husband . . . she didn’t want to worry about Sean any more, but she did. Although the truth was she couldn’t be sure if she was actually worried about him, or whether her real worry was about herself.
    She rolled over in the bed and let out a little yelp of pain. Tonight it wasn’t worry that was keeping her awake but the pain in her back caused by the fact that she’d stupidly tried to move a heavy dresser in one of the guest bedrooms and had jarred her back doing it. That was the trouble about trying to do everything on your own. Sometimes something had to give.
    But, she reminded herself, she was coping despite everything. The guesthouse was holding its own in the toughest times she’d ever experienced. She had a good relationship with her two children, although they were currently far from home. Alan was on a peacekeeping mission with the Defence Forces (thankfully not in the front line, though she still said a prayer for him first thing in the morning and before she got into bed each night); while Chrissie was