Mike’s golf handicap had suffered in recent weeks, whatever the hell a handicap was, but he obviously wasn’t happy about it. And Hawkins was annoyed that, having recently found common ground with her sister, the job kept forcing her to cancel plans. She hadn’t been running for weeks.

The unjustifiable stresses of modern police work were bad enough if only one partner had to manage them, but when she and Mike were both flat out every day, dealing with society’s ugliest undersides, it was imperative they had something to come home to. Something to fight for.

Often the only things that stopped Hawkins sleeping at the office were having to feed Admiral Kirk, her overweight rescue cat, and the brief interaction she and Mike shared in the hour before bed. Most nights, neither of them was home before eight thirty, which left minimal time for cramming cheese on toast into their faces instead of dinner, and even less for intimacy.

The relationship needed a boost, but where she might have suggested a holiday, or some time off to relax and work on the house, Mike had gone to the other extreme.

Four weeks ago, out of nowhere, he’d proposed.

A carefully crafted night out had included a meal and theatre seats, which meant they’d both consumed a fair amount of alcohol before ending up outside, admiring the Old Vic. At which point he’d produced a ring, perfectly sized, and a speech, clearly practised.

In one respect, he was right: marriage was the next logical step for them. Except only he had given the matter serious thought. So Hawkins’ response involved lengthy hesitation, followed by a painfully tentative yes.

Moment spoiled.

Sensing his desolation, she had grabbed the ring and stuck it straight on, as instinct screamed at her to set ground rules up front. Now there was no room for negotiation, without risking an already fragile status quo.

It was her own fault, of course. All those times he’d tried to raise the subject, and she’d found some coincidental reason to put it off. Inadvertently forcing his hand.

Of course, being with Mike wasn’t the problem; she’d happily be Mrs Maguire. What grated was the actual process of getting married. The endless kaleidoscope of planning, gratuitous expense and traipsing round venue after venue was bad enough even for those looking forward to zero hour. Even then the whole thing might have been just about bearable, had Hawkins’ family not been involved.

If she’d had enough sense to explain these reservations to Mike in advance, she’d have suggested slow and strategic dissemination of their news across the Hawkins clan, thereby reducing the inevitable melee of unsolicited opinions and relentless glee.