The painting became a real chore, my progress was interminably slow. The end of summer slipped away under innumerable coats of paint. I got sick of the smell, felt stifled by the shop and the narrow, cobbled alleyway. I longed to escape for a day up on the moor, in my walking boots, tramping over open ground, breathing fresh air, watching clouds roll across a wide sky. But I knew I wasn’t going to get it. Evenings were drawing in and the leaves were already on the turn. Nick was threatening to go back on his promise to employ a professional signwriter for the shopfront, arguing that I could do just as good a job for a lot less money. I knew he would, of course, and told him he was a cheapskate.

Walking the Tribe each day saved my sanity, got me out while it was still early and the morning air was cool and fresh. I spotted Paul’s van one morning, parked in the lane outside his field. He hadn’t been around for weeks. I kept the dogs on leads. I didn’t want any of them racing ahead of me and running amok inside his workshop. As it turned out, the workshop door was safely shut but I could see the door of the caravan was open, so I strolled over, calling his name.

As I approached, a large green rectangle was suddenly propelled through the open door and landed with a soft thump on the ground outside. I recognised it as the mattress of the sofa bed, on which he and I had once enthusiastically bounced around.

‘Hello?’ I called. I didn’t want to risk putting my head around the door, I didn’t know what might come flying out next.

Paul’s voice came from within. ‘Juno? Hello!’ He jumped down from the caravan, grinning, gave me a brotherly kiss on the cheek and patted the heads of canines of various sizes who were circling round his feet, tails wagging and demanding attention.

‘I didn’t know you’d come back.’

‘I’m just down for a few days, picking up a bit of work. I hope you weren’t planning on bringing this lot inside,’ he said, nudging aside a nosing doggy snout. ‘It’s enough of a mess as it is.’

‘Spring cleaning?’ I decided to risk a glance into the interior. It was bedlam. It looked as if he’d been throwing everything around, pillows, bedding and clothes all over the floor, the fold-down table piled high with boxes, items of junk spilling out all over the place.

‘Not exactly,’ he explained. ‘I’ve lost something.’

‘Anything important?’

‘Just one of my netsuke. I was packing them away and I must have dropped one.’

‘Well it can’t have gone far. Do you want me to help you look?’