It was under the weight of this newfound insight that she finally got out of the car and went to the shop that was adjacent to the garage where Peter worked. With a final, tremendous effort, she plucked up her courage and stepped through the door, accompanied by a plinging sound.

“I was here about a week ago and talked to a guy about a problem with my car,” she began. “I don’t remember his name, but he had dark, pretty short hair, and . . .”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the man behind the counter. “Perhaps I can help you instead?”

He was around thirty, burly, with a bushy ginger beard and a shaved head, and he exchanged a glance that was difficult to interpret with a colleague who had just had his back to them while fiddling with the shelves.

“It’s quite complicated,” said Jeanette. “I’m not sure I can explain it all again. Isn’t he in? The dark-haired guy?”

New looks were exchanged—did they suspect something? Had they caught sight of them together, or had Peter told them something in confidence that he oughtn’t have?

“No,” said the man, leaning forward with the palms of his hands spread wide on the counter.

He almost looked threatening standing there and looking at her, seemingly waiting for the next move, as if he knew she wasn’t telling the truth.

“Do you know when he’s expected back?” Jeanette continued obstinately.

“No,” said the man again, without letting her out of his gaze.

Maybe he was offended that she wouldn’t confide her mechanical issues to him?

“He’s on holiday,” the other one interrupted—an older man who didn’t look like he had long left until retirement. “He’ll probably be gone for a couple of weeks at least.”

Another mysterious look was exchanged between the two men, and Jeanette was overcome by the feeling that not a single word of truth had been said during this peculiar conversation.

“Okay, then I’ll try again in a few weeks,” she said with a smile and a forced lightness of tone. “Bye for now!”

Then she turned on her heel and left the garage. She heard the door close behind her with another quiet pling from the bell there to notify the staff of new customers.

In a seemingly nonchalant way, she strolled past the window of the unit. Then she went and got back into her own car. She thought again. Tried to interpret the situation. Concluded that Peter was potentially at the garage, but had asked his colleagues not to reveal it if anyone asked after him. Such as a blonde in fashionable clothing pretending not to know him. Or maybe he really was on holiday. Maybe for two weeks, maybe for longer. And he hadn’t told her this.

Regardless of which was true, it all seemed to bode ill. He didn’t want anything to do with her any longer.