The next morning Viola chose the least crowded route for her morning run, and still, on her way back she had an encounter. Two streets away from the surgery, she heard 'Oh Dr. Holyoake!' behind her. She considered pretending she couldn't hear the person, hoping they would notice the earphones, but then she stopped, pressed the buttons on the pods, and turned around with a polite smile. Mrs. Small, one of the Fab Five ladies, was hurrying her way, dragging her little dog, that looked like a duster without a handle, after her. The poor animal was pitter-pattering, but it seemed to Viola that from time it was simply pulled through the air like a kite.

"Dr. Holyoake! What an exciting evening, and what a dreadful, dreadful continuation of it yesterday!" Mrs. Small exclaimed, coming to stop near Viola. Her dog emitted a long exhausted sigh and dropped its fluffy backside into the dirty snow near the road. "How are dear Fiona and Will Holyoake now?"

Viola thanked years of practice for the fact that no emotion showed on her face.

"Quite alright," she answered.

"And poor, poor Sam! He just sees no luck! Yesterday in the pub, he seemed so defeated." Mrs. Small shook her head. "Well, hopefully they will help poor Semra in the Bonn House."

The Bonn House was the rehab centre where Semra had been staying. It was located in the next county.

"Which can't be said about our dear Dr. Fenton!" the old lady said, perking up, her eyes burning greedily. "What a performance! Who knew he was such a debonair! All of us were, of course, looking forward to your former spouse singing, but instead we had the pleasure of listening to Dr. Fenton... and you have to admit, he's quite a competition to Master Rhys, don't you think?"

The old lady gave Viola a pointed mischievous look, and Viola smiled politely, taking her rushing thoughts under control.

"Quite so, Mrs. Small," she said. "It's quite hard to tell which one has a better– voice."

Mrs. Small giggled.

"You do, my dear," she said and patted VIola's upper arm. "We're all so glad that the Holyoakes don't hold the monopoly for the singing talent anymore. Although, you are still a Holyoake, nominally speaking."

"Only nominally," Viola said. "You'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Small, I'm getting quite cold. These clothes are only good for running."

"Oh, do run along, my dear," Mrs. Small started squawking. "We wouldn't want you to catch a cold! "

***

Back in the flat, Viola took a shower, dried and styled her hair, and walked back into her bedroom. She'd made her bed before her run - and now she suddenly felt like crawling back under the duvet. She told herself to stop being silly and sat down at her desk. She checked the time - it was half past seven - and dialled Sam. Her call was sent into voicemail, and she sighed and scrolled through her recent calls to find Rhys' number.

"Morning," he answered after three tones. His voice was gruff.

"Morning. How are you?" she asked and fidgeted with the pen that she'd unconsciously picked up from her pencil holder.

"I'm good," he answered, seemingly grudgingly.

"Right," Viola said, and heard him sigh. "How's Sam? What happened yesterday?" she asked.

"He's– alright. It's all OK now," he said. Well, that surely sounded convincing. "We figured it all out last night."

"Did you?" Viola drew out in doubt, and then asked sharply, "And what happened to Fiona and Will then?"

"How did you–" He cut himself off. "Damn grapevine. They are alright too, Vi. There was an unpleasant episode with Semra and her–" He once again didn't finish his sentence, and cleared his throat. "I promise you, everything is under control. Semra is back in the Bonn House, and the little'uns don't even know anything happened."

"But something did happen," Vi said. She sounded lost - mostly, because she just couldn't understand why he was acting so distant, almost frosty.

"Yeah– but it's all under control now," he repeated. "Listen, Vi, I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I'm helping Miss Rosa to set up the tent for the bake. I'll see you later, alright?"

"Sure, but–" she started, and then he muttered a quick 'Later then' and hung up.

Viola put down her phone and looked at her reflection in the window. It was still dark outside, and she saw her own frowning face and her lips pressed in distress.

***

When she entered the kitchen, Fenton was putting a kettle on.

"Morning, Viola," he greeted her.

"Would you like some Turkish coffee, Alan?" Viola asked and opened the cupboard.

"Ah, your famous coffee," he said with a chuckle. "Mable Holyoake has mentioned it. Yes, please, I'd love some."

Viola took out her cezve and the container with coffee beans.

"My ex-husband taught me how to make it," she said distractedly, still pondering the conversation with Rhys.

"Right, you've been married twice," Fenton said, buttering his toast. "Was your second husband Turkish?"

"Egyptian. He's an epidemiologist in Doctors Without Borders," she said and looked at Fenton. "We stay in touch. Our divorce wasn't at all dramatic."

"You tend to do that, don't you?" he asked with a soft laugh.

"Divorce my husbands?" she asked sardonically.

"No, stay friends with them," he said and rose to get to the fridge. "I find it endlessly attractive in people. When there's no drama in their lives. No palaver."

Viola laughed. "Then you definitely shouldn't date in Fleckney."

He looked at her over his shoulder and closed the fridge, a jar of jam in his hand.

"Well, that's too late for that, isn't it?" he said with a smirk.

"You can always withdraw from the race," Viola said cheekily and looked down into her cezve. "After all, your bouquet never reached its destination, and then there was just one song. Not much has actually–"

"Viola," he interrupted her softly.

She turned to him, and he put his jam down. And then he took a step forward, cupped her face with both hands, and kissed her.

***

Fenton moved back, and Viola slowly opened her eyes. She wondered if she had the same baffled expression he was currently sporting.

"That was–" she started.

"Yeah," he said and nodded. "Disappointing?" he offered.

"Not 'disappointing,' that would apply a sort of an emotion," Viola drew out. "And there's none."

"No, there is none!" he repeated in a bewildered voice. "It's like a cream cracker of a kiss."

Viola giggled. "Well, thank you, Dr. Fenton."

He chuckled and gave her an amused look, "Don't be coy, Viola. We both know you're an amazing kisser, it's just–"

"There is no spark," she finished his thought.

"Exactly! It was just–" He once again searched for a word.

"Bland," Viola said, and he nodded.

"Pity really," he said and grinned at her. "In theory, we could've been so good together."

"We would have," Viola agreed and smiled back at him. "We have so much in common! And I find your sense of humour endlessly sexy! Your looks don't harm either, to say nothing of your karaoke skills."

"And we work so well together! To say nothing, of how much I appreciate your looks," he said. "Should we try again?" he asked, and she could see he was joking. She scrunched her nose and shook her head, and he said, "Yeah, I agree," he said. "That was just odd, and made me question my manhood. Staying indifferent when kissing these lips? I must be going down with something!"

Viola laughed again and went back to her cezve. Fenton sat down and started spreading jam on his toast.

"So, can we agree that this exchange of compliments has salvaged our friendship, and now we can continue working together in harmony?" Viola asked over her shoulder and, and he saluted her with his toast. "Excellent," Viola said in a pleased tone. "And now I will treat you to my coffee. To wash down the cream cracker."

Fenton snorted and rose to get cups for them.

***

The Festival Saturday consisted of a nursery school play held in Fleckney Comprehensive, a public bake held in a large heated tent in the Greville Square, and later in the evening, a bonfire in the Meres.

Since Viola had no interest in the school play and the Market was now closed, she decided to once again visit the Book Fair in the Town Hall. It was its last day, and she was hoping to snatch a couple more novels by Olivia Dane. She'd already finished the one she bought and could use another serving of the silly fun such reading provided. She realised she was in a rather vexed mood after the morning call to Rhys, and she decided to walk from the surgery.

The weather was colder than she expected, and she regretted the light jacket she was wearing. At least she had a hat and mittens on. The Town Hall was located in the Old Mill, an attractive Elizabethan building, situated on the edge of the Older Fleckney Woulds, surrounded by a large hilly area, protected from urbanisation by the Fleckney Wildlife Conservation Act of 1982 due to it being the habitat of the endangered breed of dormice. After purchasing three books, two of which she was fortunate to snatch the last copy of, Viola wrapped her scarf around her neck tightly and ventured back towards the centre of the town.

As she hurried along the pathways leading through the hillocks of the Dormouse Field, she heard a honk and the rustle of wheels behind her. She looked over her shoulder, and a large pick-up truck stopped near her.

"Morning, Viola!" Fiona Holyoake greeted her after lowering her window. "Would you like a lift?"