I roll my eyes. “I cannot imagine what your dowry would consist of. It’s hugely likely that sarcasm is a component.” He chuckles, and I sigh. “I’m sure we will be fine,” I say haughtily. I look down at Endof, who gives a wild toss of his head. “He’ll probably be quite biddable once we’re alone,” I say doubtfully.

I was very wrong. By the time night falls, Endof has destroyed his bed, two remote controls, and the legs on my sofa. He’s currently lying on the aforementioned sofa, his eyes rolling in his head. I stand staring at him with my hands on my hips. After a few hours of not knowing where the next attack on my defences will occur, I’m sweaty and dishevelled. It’s how I imagine purgatory to be. Tiredness tugs at my body and softens my thought processes.

“You are a menace,” I inform the creature, and he gives a groan and rolls onto his back with his legs in the air.

The doorbell rings, and he immediately rolls over with a manic expression on his face. “No,” I say, but it’s to no avail. His volley of barks sound as if he believes someone is ramraiding my home.

“Be silent,” I command, but he reacts in the same manner he’s treated all my instructions in the last few hours. He completely ignores me. “I’ve changed your name, you stupid animal,” I mutter, grabbing his collar. “You are now called Laurie.”

I throw the door open and eye the man leaning against the doorjamb with a paper bag in his hand. “What do you want?” I ask.

He grins. “I wanted to see how Endof was settling in.”

“Very well, if that actually means destroying the flat.”

He chuckles. “Thought so.” He pushes past me, entirely convinced of his welcome, as he probably should be. I’ve laid out the proverbial red carpet for him ever since I’ve known him.

He looks at the files spread over my dining room table and then shoots me a glance. “You look tired,” he says in a softer voice.

“I am fine,” I say with a sigh. “Thank you. Sleep is always hard-won at these points. I can catch up later.”

He strolls into the kitchen, and Endof and I follow him automatically. He sets the bag down on the counter and removes a jar. “What is that?” I ask.

“Honey.”

“And it is in my flat, why?”

He rolls up his sleeves. “I’m going to make you hot milk and honey.”

“Good grief, why?”

He chuckles. “So you can sleep. It’s an infallible remedy. My mum used to make it for us.”

“Were you five? I can’t imagine it’s happened lately.” I look pointedly at the circles under his eyes.