‘Hurrah, it works!’

Beaming, I look at my phone to see an image of me sitting on the sofa, which I’ve covered with an old blanket. I’ve also brought in Harry’s water bowl and tuned the radio to Classic FM, as studies have shown that classical music helps to soothe stressed animals. Chopin’s fifth nocturne is playing.

From his position by the TV, Harry stares at me unblinkingly. He does not look soothed.

‘OK, so I’m leaving you a little treat in case you get hungry . . .’ I wave a dog chew. ‘But don’t worry, I won’t be back late.’

Harry looks worried. Head tilted, ears down, he’s got that anxious look in his eyes.

Rubbing his soft, velvety ears, I try to reassure him, but part of me is trying to reassure myself. I’m having second thoughts – not only about leaving Harry, but about agreeing to meet Ajay. Earlier I nearly cancelled, but something inside me said that I need to go.

‘You’re going to be just fine, I promise,’ I tell us both.

And, kissing Harry’s head, I ease myself up from my haunches.

‘Just please try not to eat the sofa.’

We’ve arranged to meet in the Crooked Billet, the low-beamed sixteenth-century pub tucked away at the top of the village. Clad in ivy, it commands sweeping views across the valley and is only a ten-minute walk from my house; more like five, if you’re wearing flat boots and walk briskly. Which I do, as I didn’t want to wear a heavy winter coat, and it’s still chilly at night.

Ajay is already waiting for me. I spot him the minute I duck my head underneath the doorway that leads into the flagstoned bar, which has thankfully escaped the gastro-makeover that has afflicted every pub in London and still has its old range, decorated with horseshoe brasses and copper kettles. He’s sitting in an old armchair in the corner of the snug, next to the roaring fire, reading his phone and drinking a glass of red wine – a quiet presence amongst the rowdy locals who are congregating at the bar with their pints of ale and familiar banter.

‘Hi.’

Shaking out my hair, I walk over to his table. He looks up and sees me and immediately stands up. He’s taller than I remembered, and he’s not wearing his glasses.

‘You came.’

He looks relieved and breaks into a smile. He really does have the loveliest smile – that bit I do remember. I berate myself for having second thoughts about coming. What was I so worried about?

‘Of course.’ I try to act surprised, as if there was never any doubt I would come. Taking off my jacket, I hang it over the back of a chair.

‘You look nice.’

‘Thanks. You too. You look different,’ I add, then realize how that might sound and wish I hadn’t.

‘Contacts,’ he explains, gesturing to his eyes.

He’s wearing jeans and a jumper. Out of his suit, it’s immediately noticeable that he works out at the gym. I feel suddenly intimidated.