Very rarely indeed had she seen Simon’s face change so quickly, from being blank of expression to being visibly distressed, so that she recognised at once that he was asking her for help, asking her what he should do, asking her to sort everything out, as he had when they were children and Cat had momentarily been the one who knew best and who could make things right and not the mildly annoying sister.

She wanted to get up and put her arms round him, and then to provide a ready solution, but instead, she remained sitting with her legs tucked up under her. ‘I never want to pry into your life, Simon, you know that well enough, though it’s worth repeating from time to time, but you also know that I will help if I can, though I usually can’t.’

She expected him to get up and fetch another drink, offer to make coffee, anything to distract her from himself, but he simply sat, head back, eyes closed.

Wookie stirred, and struggled up, before leaping from the sofa and trotting out towards the front door to be let out. Cat followed him. It was bitterly cold again, an east wind whipping round her legs. The little dog came racing back from the bushes within a few seconds and shot into the kitchen to await his late-night biscuit. She took her time over it, leaving Simon to work out how he wanted to play things – pretend nothing had been said, go up, wait for her to return. She was dropping with tiredness but if he wanted to talk to her, she would listen.

Wookie crunched the last of the small treat and then made for his bed, scratching about to rearrange the fleece as he liked it, turning round and round, before finally settling, back to the room, head buried, where he would be, apparently not having moved a millimetre, until the next morning.

‘Funny little Wookers,’ she said, scratching his ears. ‘Goodnight.’

Simon was sitting staring into space.

‘I can last about another few minutes before I fold, but if you’re not ready to talk tell me so I can go to bed now.’

‘I just get no reply,’ he said quietly.

‘From Rachel?’

‘She could say “Sod off”, or “I’ll talk to you later”, but what’s silence supposed to mean?’

‘What do you think it means? What exactly did you say in your messages?’

‘Oh, you know . . . are you free? Can we have dinner? I’d like to have a few days away somewhere, will you come with me? That sort of thing.’

Cat raised an eyebrow.

‘And when were you last in touch?’

He told her about the near-miss outside the station.

‘We went for a coffee. She needed it.’

‘Idiot. But that was a chance meeting – what about before that? It’s ages, isn’t it?’

‘A while but why would that matter?’