“Stop mucking about with my knickers,” Stevie’s outburst turned every head in the aisle. Unperturbed, Penny continued arranging their shopping cart’s contents, pausing only to smile at the younger woman. Stevie appeared to be taking the latest blow in her stride, but her attempts at good humour bordered on forced, and Penny feared a crash was imminent.

“I think that’s it,” she said, straightening up, “undies, nighties, toiletries, make-up, and a few things for you to wear around the house.” Stevie’s observation that the latter would make her look like a chav, cut no ice with Penny, who offered to buy her the most orange fake tan the supermarket stocked. When this suggestion was declined, Penny directed her companion to the checkout, while she went in search of one last item.

To Stevie’s surprise the ever-present, stout cashier greeted her by name, causing the customer in front to turn, and gush about how pretty she looked ‘for a boy’. Vanessa - Stevie finally took the time to read her name tag - rolled her eyes as the woman fumbled her credit card back into her purse. “She should be so lucky to look like you,” she said, bleeping a pack of panties over the barcode scanner. Stevie, who had been squirming, thanked her - it seemed everyone in town knew who she was now.

Penny dropped two ready meals onto the conveyor, earning an accusatory look from its other end. “I thought you didn’t use the microwave,”

“Normally I don’t,” Penny affected a nonchalant air, “I prepare my meals for the week on Sundays, but I had a friend over, who just wouldn’t...” Before she could finish the sentence Stevie had rushed over and caught her in a tight hug. With the girl’s tears running onto her cheek, Penny whispered reassurances, and patted Stevie’s back. “It’s been a long day,” she said to Vanessa, who was bagging the last of their purchases for them.

Bob snapped the telephone handset back into its dock, and groaned; last week’s simple plan had become increasingly Byzantine, drawing everyone deeper into its intrigue. Belinda was on hand with tea, and a measured sympathy. “What’s happened now?” she asked.

“Stevie’s parents removed all of her belongings from her flat today.” His bride-to-be’s tea was awful, and was largely responsible for his switch to coffee; he tried not to grimace as he related the story. “I spoke to Ted earlier, and he didn’t mention it, so I’m pretty sure Janet acted alone.”

“And now she’s got the result she feared most of all.” Belinda’s tea remained untouched, she much referred coffee, and only made tea when Bob visited. There was a pretty irony to Mrs Weston’s actions, but she wondered how much of it was chance — the head of HR was a practiced manipulator of emotions. “It’s worked out well for Penny; perhaps Janet has a point?”

Bob thought about telling her of that morning’s meeting, and how Penny was turning herself inside out with guilt. However, he had always respected confidences, though how long that virtue would survive his impending marriage he did not know. If any good remained to come from their original plot, Bob was sure it would be in the relationship between Penny and Stevie. “I was there darling, it wasn’t planned to work out this way, but they’re good for each other, aren’t they?”

“Just how much time have you spent imagining them together, Bob Thornwell?”

After twenty years she knew far too well how his mind worked; in the office he had everything under his control, but the Thornwells’ home life promised to be interesting.

Stevie could not understand why she had to have her own room. Penny had argued that, it would appease Stevie’s mother, and two girls getting dressed in the same room would inevitably get in each other’s way. Sound as these reasons were, it still felt like a rejection, especially after spending almost all of the past few days together. She had never felt lonely in her flat - after all Steve had lived there too - but the prospect of spending the night apart from the older woman was awful.

Releasing her ponytail, Stevie sat at the dressing table and brushed out her long brown hair. Ms Hawker she understood, but Penny was still a mystery. At times she was the best friend Stevie had ever known, perhaps more than that, and yet when they were at their closest Penny pulled away - it was almost as though she was afraid.

“Are you decent?” Penny pushed open the bedroom solicitously, asking if she had time for a ‘chat before bed’. Stevie nodded, and swivelled in her chair to face her friend, who sat on the edge of the bed. Penny was trying her best to smile, glancing around at the scant possessions the girl had brought from her flat.

“I should have said this before, but I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you.” Penny held up a hand to stave off interruptions. “It was wrong to force you into coming into work as a girl. There’s something going on in the company — I can’t tell you what yet — and I used you to gain advantage from it.” With every word more colour drained from her face, and her voice began increasingly to catch. “I’ve ruined your life, and I am so sorry — for what that’s worth now — but I am going to do whatever I must to make things right for you.”

With a final apology Penny rose and left the room, leaving a bewildered Stevie to stare at her retreating back.

Propped up in bed, Penny read through Stevie’s lease once more; her landlord was in clear breach of its terms by allowing her parents access without express permission. If she so wanted Stevie was free to abandon the property without penalty; would that her other problems were as easily addressed. Penny laid the document down on the bed beside her, and remembered wistfully how pleasant it had been to have the young woman snoring in that same spot.

Apologies were not Penny’s forte, since she expended a great deal of time avoiding having to make any. Lack of practice might have excused her botched effort earlier, but despite the sincerity of her words, she had to accept that it had been made solely to salve her own conscience. Seeing Stevie clutch the small bag containing her only possessions had been its inspiration: an iPod, a handful of DVDs and a few French novels had been all she had taken away from the flat. Steve’s clothes had been left behind, a pleasing indication that she now saw no future role for him, but almost everything she treasured had been stolen by her mother and father.

Penny fought the urge to go to Stevie, whatever words she chose she doubted they would hold much comfort for the dispossessed teenager. It promised to be a long night, wholly taken up by a hunt for the appropriate things to say when morning came. She was just about to turn off the light when the door was inched opened.

“You didn’t say I had to sleep in my room.” Stevie waited in the doorway for permission to enter, shifting her weight uneasily from one foot to another. Penny said nothing, but folded back the covers, which was invitation enough for Stevie who skipped barefoot across the carpet, and flopped down onto the mattress. “It’s not your fault,” she said, scooting from the bed’s cold side to Penny’s hesitant embrace, “and this has been the best week of my life, honest.”

“Next week will be better, I promise.” Penny pulled the quilt over them, jubilant that her young charge was in high spirits, but ashamed that she had not properly conveyed how much wrong she had done.

Stevie kissed her cheek very gently. Penny, as ever, was a conundrum beyond her young comprehension; sweet, and sad, and lovely. “I do love...” The older woman halted Stevie’s confession by placing a finger over the girl’s lips.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Penny reached across the nightstand and switched off the lamp.

That ‘ourselves’ gave Stevie more than enough to ponder on as she laid her head on Penny’s shoulder — if Penny felt the same way about her, the next week truly would be even better. Still, she wanted to finish what she had started to say. Penny’s heart beat steadily beneath Stevie’s ear, as she waited for her bedfellow to drop off. When she was sure that Penny was asleep, Stevie whispered, “I love you.”

“Go to sleep,” Penny answered softly, “you’ve work in the morning, Miss Weston.”