The bike propped up against the cottage wall explained why I’d not managed to catch up with my neighbour, despite hurrying through the May sunshine all the way back to Hatherstone Lane. I ignored the pull of an ice-cool drink in the shade of next-door’s cherry tree, and knocked on next-door-but-one’s door.

After a long wait, and another, firmer, couple of knocks, the door swung half an inch open and a suspicious eye peered through the gap.

‘Hi!’ I smiled brightly. ‘I’m Ollie. I’ve just moved into End Cottage.’

The door closed a couple of millimetres.

I quickly lifted up the books and thrust them at the crack.

‘I was in the library earlier. I thought you might like to borrow these.’

‘It’s against library regulations to lend out a book you’ve borrowed to someone else,’ the girl replied, despite being unable to hide the quiver of hope in her voice.

‘Well, I won’t tell if you don’t.’ I lowered my eyebrows conspiratorially. ‘I don’t think that’s an actual rule; I think Irene made it up along with most of the other ones.’

The door opened another centimetre, but not quite far enough to poke a hardback Tolkien through the gap.

‘Trust me, I work in libraries, I know what I’m talking about.’

She grimaced. ‘I don’t want to make her mad. She might ban me again.’

I thought for a moment. ‘Can you wait here for two minutes?’

The girl wrinkled her forehead, scanning the road behind me.

‘How about I see you in the garden?’

She nodded, before closing the door.

In the end, it was nearly ten minutes before I stepped over the two rows of flower beds to the side of the garden where she waited, hovering just outside her back door. As I approached, I couldn’t help noticing that her jeans revealed a good three inches of skinny ankle, and both her faded green T-shirt and mousy hair were in dire need of a wash.

‘Here.’ I offered her the three books now in my hands. ‘These are my copies. The only rules about borrowing them is that you have to love them as much as I do.’

She hesitated, hands twitching. ‘You can’t lend me these.’

‘Of course I can! I only checked the other ones out to annoy Irene.’

‘You don’t know me.’ She looked at me sideways.

Right. Don’t accept gifts from strangers.

‘Okay. Well, we could have a drink and a piece of cake and discuss our favourite character so far, and then maybe you’ll feel like you know me well enough?’

That hardly constituted a DBS check, but I did have one of those, and this was a literary emergency, after all.