‘You must be frozen through.’

‘Two layers of thermals,’ she reassured him, then noticed it was Luca who was shivering. ‘You go back to bed. I’ll find him. He always comes eventually.’

‘I want to help.’

‘Then at least have a hat.’ Before he could argue, she took off the big fur trapper’s one – revealing the pink bobble hat underneath it – and put it on Luca’s head, straight over his hoodie, his second coronation of the day.

‘There.’ She stepped back and tilted her head to admire him before quickly spinning around, trying to hide her laughter as she pointed the shaking torch around the wood store. Two reflected eyes gleamed back. ‘Aha!’

But it was just a fat black rat that gave them a hard stare before disappearing behind the logs with a flick of its tail.

The fur hat was incredibly warm, and he was grateful for it. He started to think straight.

‘Turn the torch off,’ he suggested, indicating for her to step into the shadows with him. ‘Let’s just stay still and see what happens.’

‘I’ve tried that.’

‘Try it again. Humour me.’ He swallowed back another yawn. The hat smelled of something scented. Lavender maybe, or lime. It was nice.

She stood beside him. ‘This won’t—’

‘Shh.’

There was a low whine from the cat flap. An owl hooted.

‘He won’t—’

‘Shh.’

The scent was stronger now she was close beside him, heady and citrussy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn her head to glance up to a window in the house, guessed that was where Kes was sleeping. The owl hooted again. Their breath condensed in baby dragon clouds by their faces as they waited. He felt her arm accidentally brush his. All at once he was plugged into the mains.

They waited a long time. Electricity pulsed through him.

She shifted impatiently, breathing. ‘You know Blair Robertson’s here?’

‘Yes,’ he breathed back.

‘Is that okay with you?’

‘Why shouldn’t it—’

‘There!’ She flicked her torch back on.

The fox was behind the chicken run, eyes gleaming through the honeycomb pattern of wire. He looked far from frightened. He was gazing at the little coop in which Lester’s laying bantams were roosting.

‘Little sod. They’re all wile and instinct,’ Pax said admiringly, moving forwards to call for him, reaching down for some feta to throw within sniffing distance. Laurence the fox seemed to weigh up his options, pale eyes unblinking – all-night stake-out versus Greek mezze – and then slunk round to eat the scrap before trotting forwards to eat more from her hand. She scooped him up calmly, the young fox surprisingly trusting as she delivered him back to his big hutch where he began tucking into a bowl of dog food.

‘Thank you.’ She turned back to Luca, ducking her head with a polite grimace. ‘Again.’

He braced himself for a sarcastic remark about pony lessons, but it didn’t come.

‘Pax, I’m not being nice to you because Ronnie asked me to. It’s because…’ The reasons were too conflicted to explain, the hour too late.