No one answers and I swallow down my frustration. Instead, I sip from the coffee mug, ever grateful to feel the caffeine start to flood my system. Even if there’s a chance it will also start to make me feel more jittery than I already am.

My mechanic has told me he’s very busy and he’ll get round to fixing my car when he can, but it might not be until next week. He raised a very bushy eyebrow when he saw the graffiti on the bonnet, but thankfully didn’t ask any questions. Maybe he’s one of a select group of people who wonder why this hasn’t happened to me sooner. People who believe I’m the gutter press.

My phone rings and I answer only to hear Ryan’s voice. He wants me in his office. Now. Once again, it doesn’t sound as if it’s likely to be a fun conversation. I take a long drink of my coffee, which burns as it slides down my throat, before going to see him.

I barely have the door closed before he asks me if I know anything about the broken glass in the car park.

‘It was where your car is usually parked. Must have happened overnight. Is your car okay?’

I blush. I can’t hide the fact I don’t have it with me today, but nor am I willing to tell him the truth.

‘Short of a problem with the clutch, my car is fine. But it will be in the garage for a bit.’

‘So, the broken glass has nothing to do with you?’ His left eyebrow is raised so high, it’s not that far from his hairline.

‘Why would it?’ I ask, deciding a brazen approach is the best way forwards.

‘I’m not sure, Ingrid, but I can’t help but feel you’re not being totally honest.’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ I tell him. ‘Is that all you were looking to talk to me about?’

His voice softens. ‘Ingrid, this is me you’re talking to. Let me take off my boss hat for a moment or two. As your … erm … friend … are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell me? I can help you, you know. Keep you safe.’

This is Ryan Murray on a full charm offensive. It’s almost as if he can switch on the extra twinkle in his eyes. It dawns on me that even though I have looked up to Ryan for years, and even though our relationship isn’t always strictly professional, I don’t trust him entirely. Something I can’t quite put my finger on is nagging at me.

‘I’m fine. I’ve told you what you need to know. If you want to call the garage and ask them to confirm that it’s my clutch that’s banjaxed then feel free.’