One of my perennially dissatisfied customers, Miss Higgins, stands up, her face set in its usual querulous lines. “Mr Evans, can I just say–?”

“No,” I say succinctly and bang into my office, slamming the door so her displeased whine is cut off.

I look around wildly. I’m sure the address I need is in the computer somewhere, but I’m also pretty certain it was on a piece of paper he gave me recently. But where is it? Deciding to leave the computer until last, I rummage wildly through the tidy paperwork on the desk, throwing it off when it proves useless. I scrape some of the files off and watch them cascade to the floor, so absorbed that I don’t quite manage to catch the iMac that goes sailing past me too. It crashes to the floor, exploding in a bang and a flurry of sparks.

I hear the door open behind me, and Felix comes to stand next to me. “Redecorating?” he asks calmly.

I glare at him. “I can do without the customary backchat.”

“That makes me sound quite a character.” He pauses and winks at me. “I like it.”

I run my hands agitatedly through my hair before bending to start going through the desk drawers. Felix stares at me, immobile until a stapler and a hole punch sail past his nose. Then he activates.

“What are you looking for? Also, much as I love this new devil-may-care side of you, do you think you should maybe have saved it until you’re actually due in the office and not, say, when you’re supposed to be at the church?”

The door opens and we both turn to watch Max edge into the room. “No,” he says loudly. “No, you can’t see him.” He makes a gesture like a lion tamer, so I know he’s talking to Miss Higgins, and then slams the door shut.

He looks up and grins at me. The smile manages to intensify for a brief second as he looks at Felix, like the last flare of a star, and then it dies as Felix glares at him.

I stare at Max. He’s wearing a morning suit, but his hair is loose and longer than it’s ever been and his beard is quite wild.

Felix sighs loudly. “Great. Who ordered the Jesus?”

“Felix,” I sigh, rubbing my nose. “Can we concentrate on more important things?”

He shrugs. “He doesn’t exist for me, so I’m a go with that plan.”

“Oh, so I don’t exist unless you’re making unpleasant and quite anti-Jesus remarks about my appearance,” Max drawls, sitting on the desk and folding his arms. “I’m actually offended.”

“You’re an atheist,” I say baldly.