Dan brought up the rear as they entered the house and walked through a small glory hole, filled with gumboots and fishing rods and shelves stacked with DIY paraphernalia. Another door led into a large kitchen, which, despite its size, seemed equally as cluttered. A drying pulley, lined with clothes, hung above the Rayburn cooker, and the round leafed table that was pushed in against the curved window seat was piled with books and files and fabric samples. A large ginger cat, with its front feet tucked under its chest, sat upon the closed lid of a laptop computer and ignored their arrival entirely. Dan wondered why it had chosen that resting place in preference to the obvious comfort of the old sofa, with its plaid rug covering and piles of colourful cushions, situated against the wall next to the television.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” Katie said, dumping her canvas bag on the table. “I just have to go upstairs.” She walked across to a door wedged into the corner of the room by a large pine Welsh dresser. “Sooty will keep you company until I get back, won’t you, Sooty?”

As soon as she had left the room, Sooty jumped onto the sofa, reached for the television remote, and switched it on. Hands on chin, elbows resting on the arm of the sofa, she became immediately absorbed in the antics of a cartoon dog that was frantically trying to bury a smouldering stick of dynamite. Dan glanced around at the countless examples of children’s artwork that adorned most parts of the yellow walls, then as the television boomed out the demise of the unfortunate dog, he walked across to the window and stared out into the cold, grey shroud of mist that seemed to be balking any chance of brightness from the day.

He couldn’t even begin to live with this kind of weather. Not day after day. Especially being stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with neither sight nor sound of another person for miles around. It began to dawn on him that the most thankful thing that had happened to him all day was that Vagabonds had been sold, and the best of British luck to the young couple from London who had bought it. If they weren’t both clawing at the doors of the sleeper train within the next few months, then, more than likely, they were already flying pretty high over the cuckoo’s nest.

Dan heard the sound of Katie’s footsteps come down the stairs. She opened the door and walked in. “Right. What time is it?” She glanced up at the kitchen clock above the Rayburn. “A quarter to twelve. I suppose it’s a bit early, but let’s have some lunch anyway.” She pulled open the door of the fridge. “Would you like a beer?”

“If you have one, that would be great,” Dan replied.