‘Aren’t you going to miss all this?’ he’d asked her, that hot summer night in the car park of the Jack of Diamonds pub, where they’d all been lolling on their bikes, slugging beer.

The moment she’d broken the news to him that she was off, he’d been visibly dismayed, remaining utterly (and satisfyingly) oblivious to that beautiful, bloody-haired harpy, Hells Kells, who was already hovering in the background.

‘It’s just not for me,’ Lucy had replied.

‘Since when? Raising hell, ripping the world a new one … what else were you born for?’

‘I can’t answer that, Kyle … because you wouldn’t understand.’

‘We’re perfect for each other.’

‘I’m not a kid any more, Kyle. I have to do adult stuff now.’

‘I don’t believe you’re actually gonna be a copper. There must be someone else.’

That had been typical of his suspicious nature. And yet, amazingly, there hadn’t been a hint of violence or rancour in his voice; he’d simply sounded bewildered by the whole business. And not a little bit saddened.

‘No,’ she’d assured him. ‘There’s no one else.’

‘You realise this’ll mean we’re enemies? Not just exes, but actual enemies. There’ll be no choice in the matter for either of us.’

‘I know that.’

And that had really hurt at the time, she reflected. It genuinely had.

Sensing the conversation was over, she’d put her helmet on and kicked the Ducati to life.

‘You weren’t made to be alone, Lucy!’ he’d said, face finally hardening. ‘None of us are. You may think you can hack it … but you’re not so tough.’

That parting shot had barely made an impression on her at the time. But there’d still been a kernel of truth in it: humans are not solitary by nature; everyone needed some romance in their lives. Not that this negated Lucy’s personal standards. As she’d replied so often to her mother’s repetitive enquiries, there was no point entering a relationship with someone unless you had actual feelings for them. It wasn’t just about a guy being tall, well-built and good-looking. Plenty of that sort had hit on her over the years. It was about whether you connected with them. And somehow or other, Lucy never did – or never allowed herself to.

‘Guess I’m just unlucky,’ she’d told her mum more than once. ‘I haven’t met him yet.’

‘That’s because you’re not looking hard enough,’ had come the disapproving reply. ‘You’re married to that job. Any self-respecting bloke’ll be intimidated by what you do for a living … unless he’s a copper himself, of course, and you’ve told me a dozen times you won’t date other coppers.’