Tara stole a sideways glance at David. He had long, rangy legs: he seemed like the type to walk everywhere. In fact, compared with most people in the office (Hero: mostly sitting in lotus position; Bryan: retired from sports, except armchair rugby; Chloe: ‘allergic’ to fruit and vegetables, etc.), he wasn’t a bad pick.

‘Fine with me,’ said David. ‘You walk into work already, don’t you?’ he added, turning to Tara.

‘Er, yes.’ Something about the way he said it caught her off balance. How did he know that?

‘Yes, Tara’s setting a wonderful example with our Ditch the Drive initiative.’ Jacqueline beamed.

‘I like to incorporate a walk into my morning routine, yes,’ she said carefully. ‘I find it helps me run through my schedule in my mind.’

‘Absolutely. It must help you park some of your stress for the day.’ David’s face was completely straight but there was a glimmer in his brown eyes.

‘Good-o,’ said Jacqueline, oblivious to Tara’s sudden coughing fit. ‘I’ll pop you on the chart as Davara, if that’s all right? Just a bit of fun! Chloe suggested doing celebrity combo names, and we thought Tarvid sounded a bit … icky.’

David nodded in agreement as Tara struggled to think how she could pull this back, but before she could come up with anything, he was clipping the pedometer on to his trouser pocket and pumping his arms as he strolled out of the kitchen towards the reception area, where a man and a Weimaraner were waiting for him.

CHAPTER SIX

One June morning, summer arrived with unusual energy, as if to make up for the miserable weeks before. Under the cloudless blue skies and glorious sunshine, the famous rose beds in the town’s municipal gardens burst into spectacular life, which Tara thought was some compensation for the lunchtimes now spent pounding round the park with David, listening to him deliver fascinating local-history nuggets like an off-duty tour guide. She tried to resist, claiming conversation interfered with her breathing patterns, but he seemed determined to find a way to make her talk, even if it was only to challenge whether the bandstand really was the site of an original Roman temple.

But inside her consulting room, the floods still lingered.

Sonia Wozniak’s face was grey, like her mood. ‘The clearing-up’s messing with my head more than the actual flood, if I’m honest. Have you been into a flooded house? You know what it smells like?’

Tara nodded. She’d helped rake the mud out of houses, and the smell had been stomach-turning; she’d had to stop to retch every so often. The lingering aftermath of water that had filtered through sodden fields, through drains, through drowned vermin: a reek of decomposition that clung to the inside of your nose long after you’d left.