Within days of their encounter, Phillipa made good on her promise and sent Leanne the seating plan, or at least she forwarded the information someone else had produced. Leanne had opened the spreadsheet in the office, expecting to find a nice graphic of the theatre’s layout. What she had actually been given was a table of information presented in rows and columns – a simple list of names and seat references. That was it.

It would take time to create a clear picture of who was sitting where, and Leanne couldn’t do that in Mal’s line of sight. He tolerated her continuing investigation, but only just, and the less he knew the better. She accepted all the assignments he could throw at her, which meant she didn’t have a chance to look at Phillipa’s information until her day off on Sunday.

Needing space, she relocated to the café and commandeered a large table. She used two cruet sets to pin down a blown-up graphic of the theatre’s layout, and set about transposing names from the printed spreadsheet.

‘Where do you want me to put this?’ Dianne asked when she appeared with a mug of coffee and a plate of toast.

‘Over there’s fine,’ Leanne said, pointing to the upper left corner of the plan. It didn’t matter if the plate covered seats in the circle, she was only interested in the stalls.

Breathing in the heady scent of dark, roasted coffee, Leanne returned to her spreadsheet, and it took a moment to realise Dianne hadn’t left. Leanne followed her gaze. Joe was heading towards them, edging nervously through the busy café.

‘Do you want me to hang around?’ Dianne asked.

‘It’s OK, I invited him.’

Dianne had never come out and told Leanne she thought it was wrong to keep Joe at arm’s length, but the relief was written all over her rosy cheeks. ‘He’s a good lad.’

‘I know.’

Joe couldn’t get past Dianne without being enveloped in a hug, and the blush was still spreading up his neck and face as he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Leanne.

‘You look in better shape than you did last week,’ he said, handing over the spare keys he had borrowed.

Leanne eyed him carefully. She was no longer sure if Joe’s flush was embarrassment after all. ‘Is this a bad idea? I forgot about you not liking crowds.’

‘This I can manage.’

Leanne remained unconvinced. Joe wasn’t the man she remembered from a year ago. His broad shoulders had narrowed and he had acquired a frailty that hadn’t registered when she had been too drunk, or too angry to notice. ‘You should eat more. Here, have some toast.’

‘I can’t say I’m hungry,’ he replied, ignoring the plate she had pushed towards him.

‘Are you sure you’re OK?’