Zuska had lived in this strange little town for barely a month, but already the sounds of the street were familiar to her.

She needed no alarm clock. In the early hours she slept soundly through the noise of the mechanical street sweeper with its orange flashing light that sprayed and brushed the pavement clear of the daytime debris.

Hours later she didn’t stir when the birds began to gather and twitter on the branches outside her window, illuminated by the first glimmer of dawn in the far off sky.

But as soon as she heard the mechanical creak as the café owner opposite wound down the striped awning, she immediately opened her eyes.

She lay still for a moment until the repetitious, metallic squeaking stopped only to be replaced the sound of a stiff broom on the pavement. She pulled aside the covers and padded almost silently to the window where she opened the curtains a crack.

The man was like clockwork. Same routine every morning. He wore a starched white apron and gave a proprietorial glance up and down the street before making a perfunctory sweep at his feet without even looking down. He was more interested in greeting the early risers already on their way to work and drumming up business, than in cleaning the already spotless paving.

“Hello there Stefan!” he shouted to a man out of Zuska’s sightline below her window.

“How’s your wife?”

Zuska couldn’t hear Stefan’s reply, but the café man adopted a serious face and nodded his head gravely.

“Listen my friend – she’s in the best place. They’ll look after her better than a mother could. She’ll be up and chasing you around the kitchen table before you know what’s hit you!”

He smiled a sad smile and nodded his head again as Stefan imparted another bit of bad news about the unfortunate woman.

“Listen, you need to look after yourself too – keep up your strength. I’ve got just the thing. Beautiful bit of lemon sole - straight off the boat this morning. You’ll love it! What say I put you down for a piece at lunchtime?”

Stefan’s concern over his wife’s medical condition obviously had not deprived him of his appetite and a deal was struck.

“Fine, about one o’clock? See you then. And tell that missus of yours that there’s a celebration meal waiting here as soon as she’s well enough - on the house!”

The café man waved farewell and then, after a barely decent pause, pulled out a notebook from his apron pocket and a pencil from behind his ear and began to scribble down details of the booking.

He was just reflecting, not without a tinge of guilt, that given the good lady’s prognosis it was hardly likely he would ever have to keep the promise of a free meal, when something made him look up – directly into Zuska’s eyes.

She froze for a moment as their gaze locked across the street. Surely he couldn’t see her through the small gap in the curtains in this half-light? But his stare seemed to penetrate the gloom. She took a half step backwards and then silently let the curtain fall shut.