Jem started to laugh. “Rosie, that’s a big pile of choux buns.”

Rosie waved off her protest. “Yeah, but it’s French so it sounds dead classy. Now, where were we? Right, yes: book yourself in and I’ll get you sorted for a very reasonable fee.”

“You will?” Jem touched a tuft by her ear, part of her scared to death of committing, part of her swept along by Rosie’s confidence, and a tiny secret part whispering that this would be a good excuse to keep in touch with her. “Okay, then. Name your price.”

Rosie twirled and pocketed the comb. “I am very partial to any and all kinds of chocolate biccies. And Special Toffee. Original or treacle, I’m not fussy.”

* * *

Jem pushed her glasses to the top of her head, the pen slipping from her fingers and landing on her statement. Busy recounting the night’s events, she hadn’t really been listening to Rosie pottering about in the kitchen adjoining the small staffroom, and had assumed a brew and hopefully toast might be on the horizon. The ping of the microwave, however, heralded a smell far richer than that of toast, one redolent of winter Sundays at home, heaped dishes filling the table as sleet battered the windows.

“Voila.” Rosie slid a steaming plate onto Jem’s paperwork. “Try not to get gravy on that, eh?”

Jem stared at the roast dinner, afraid it might vanish like a mirage if she dared stick her fork in it. “Where the hell did you magic this from?”

“Leftovers from last night’s tea at my mam’s. Sorry, there’s only half a Yorkie. The kids can eat their own weight in those buggers.”

“Not a problem,” Jem mumbled around a perfectly crisped spud. “God, has she done these in goose fat?”

“As if there’s another option.” Rosie waggled a fork-speared sprout. “How are you getting on with your statement?”

“Just about finished. I can’t promise coherence, but the sequence of events should be fine.”

“It’s half-five in the morning, Jem. I’ll be impressed if you’ve managed to spell your name right.”

Jem mopped up her gravy with a piece of beef. “And yet here we are, eating dinner.”

“We are merely following doctor’s orders. If you clean your plate, I won’t have to phone her and report back on you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll text her later and give an update.”

“Excellent,” Rosie said, a little too cheerfully. “That gets me off the hook.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she changed the subject instead. “Do you have plans for your day off? Tomorrow, that is. I’m assuming you’ll be asleep for most of today.”