‘Don’t address it to her,’ he advised when I’d explained my dilemma. ‘You’re going to go round when Luke is at the hospital, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK, so address the parcel to him, and insist that it needs to be signed for by the person on the label. They obviously won’t be able to produce him, so you refuse to deliver and leave them a “sorry you were out” card. We can fake one of those easily enough, with a made-up courier company and phone number. What are they going to do? They don’t know you from Adam, or Eve in your case, so they’ll never think to track it back to you, especially if you look the part.’

‘Genius,’ Sarah commented from the sofa. ‘At times like this, I think you’re wasted in discharge. You should be a spy.’

‘Thanks, I think,’ Mike laughed. ‘What do you think, Tilly?’

‘Yeah, that might just work,’ I admitted.

So that’s what we’ve gone with. Mike, Sarah and I raided our wardrobes to put together an outfit that looked like it would pass for the kind of outfit a courier would wear, even down to the hi-vis vest that Mike found lurking at the back of one of his drawers, and we’ve faked up a card in suitably corporate colours for me to leave behind. I’ve also been working on an Eastern European accent, as Mike helpfully pointed out that most delivery drivers these days either come from Eastern Europe or the Indian subcontinent, and there’s no way I’d be able to pull off the latter.

I can see the front door of the flat now, and my heart is racing. I don’t think I’ve been this nervous since my first job interview at the hospital, when I was so anxious I was worried I was going to faint. Once again, I hesitate.

‘Last chance to back out, Tilly,’ I murmur under my breath, before sighing and muttering, ‘Fuck it.’ My heart is hammering so hard as I press the doorbell that I’m sure you’d be able to see it, even through the puffa gilet thing I’m wearing and the hi-vis vest. I’m in full fight-or-flight mode now, and I can feel the sweat on my back as I seriously consider running away before anyone answers. A glance in either direction is enough to make me realise that’s not a viable plan. These flats are in a long, curved line and there’s nowhere I’d be able to hide quickly enough.

I’m rooted to the spot, still wracked with indecision when the door opens and I’m confronted by a smartly dressed woman with white hair pulled neatly back into a bun. She’s looking at me curiously through stylish frameless glasses.