She gathers up the bin bag and goes out of the flat and shuts the door of the apartment.

‘Luuuuna!’ she hears a man cry, from the crack in the door he’s opened next door. A small scruffy dog with ginger curly hair has made a bolt for it. Instinctively, Maddy puts her foot out to stop it.

The man comes out of the flat and scoops down and picks the dog up. ‘Gracias,’ he says gratefully. He has a Spanish accent and swarthy olive skin, his hair a mass of lustrous brown curls. He’s wearing a cardigan with buttons that remind Maddy of toffees and he’s wearing the kind of soft green lace-up boots that only Europeans wear. Trent, with his designer trainer addiction, is such a snob about footwear, it’s always the first thing she notices about people. He must be late thirties, possibly in his forties, she reckons. At least a decade younger than her, for sure.

‘I didn’t realise there was someone in the rental. I’m sorry if you’ve been disturbed by her barking.’ Bar-king. With a rolled Spanish ‘r’. His voice sounds like sunshine.

‘It’s OK,’ Maddy says, although the flat really doesn’t have any discernible sound insulation and they both know it.

‘I have to quarantine, and the dog just wants to go out, but I’m holding on the phone to the Embassy …’ He pulls an exasperated face. ‘I’m trying to sort out my visa, but …’ he shrugs and smiles. ‘And poor Luna’s not very happy being inside. She’s only a puppy.’

‘I could take her out?’ Maddy offers.

‘You could? You mean, you wouldn’t mind?’ He smiles and Maddy instinctively smiles back.

‘I’m not doing anything. Well, I’m going to the bins.’

She can see from his expression that her un-thought-out offer is a lifeline.

‘I’ll get her lead.’

He goes back inside, talking to Luna in Spanish, and Maddy is tempted to be nosy and look inside his flat. In better clothes, with a decent haircut and a shave, he might even be considered good-looking. She can imagine that Lisa would describe him as a ‘hotty’. But even thinking about Lisa is like picking at a painful scab.

He comes back with a lead and a couple of small plastic bags. She’ll have to pick up the dog’s mess, she realises, recoiling at the thought, but it’s too late now.

‘Thank you so much …?’

‘Maddy,’ she says, realising too late that she can’t shake hands with him. All this lack of contact and unnatural behaviour – will it ever be over?

‘Matteo,’ he introduces himself. They awkwardly bump elbows, but he notices the hole in his cardigan’s elbow. He bites his lip in an endearing way as he picks at the hole.

‘Sorry. It’s … uh … viejo. Old.’

She waves his embarrassment away, then watches as he brushes his hair from his face and she suddenly imagines that it’s the exact gesture he’d probably make in bed. She swallows and smiles, tearing herself away from the sight of him standing with his hands on his slim hips in the doorway. ‘Muchas gracias,’ he calls after her.