When I stepped outside with my booty, the jeep was parked at the garage opposite. It couldn’t be anyone else’s, with those scrapes along the passenger side, as if a yeti had taken a big swipe at it. He wasn’t a complete recluse, then.

I lingered outside the shop, looking at the flyers stuck in the window: ‘HOME HAIRCUTS ONLY £12’ and ‘LOGS FOR SALE’ and ‘DIANE’S MEDITATION YOGA – MEETS MONDAYS’. I probably needed that last one, except the thought of some flaccid-voiced woman instructing me to put my toe in my ear made me want to hurl. At the muted jingle of a bell behind me, my eyes slid over.

Jim came out of the garage with a hand in his back pocket and I whipped my head back to the notices. The jeep door slammed. He hadn’t seen me. Or he was incredibly shy. Or rude. I turned round, took two casual steps and stopped as if I’d just seen him, before sauntering over.

He wound the window down.

‘Hello,’ I said, dumping the bags at my feet.

‘All right, Polly.’ He looked at me patiently.

‘Um.’ I looked over the roof of the jeep to the pale sky for inspiration. ‘Are you having a nice day?’

His eyebrows slanted. ‘Same as most of them.’

I refused any awkward silence. ‘I still owe you a drink.’ A deep horizontal crease appeared in his forehead. ‘For bringing my stupid dog back.’

He gave the slightest shake of his head. ‘You’re fine.’

‘No,’ I started to turn towards the shop. ‘I’m right here. I’ll get you a beer. To add to your collection.’ God, it sounded like I thought he was an alcoholic. ‘I mean – all your bottles.’

Jim turned off the engine and put his arm on the window frame. He looked faintly anguished. ‘Go on, then.’

I left my bags where they were and dashed across the road before turning round. ‘What do you like?’

He didn’t shout, but I knew what he’d said. ‘You choose.’

I came back with a bog-coloured stout and a warm Beck’s and held them both up. ‘Went for both ends of the scale.’

He took them by the necks in one hand. ‘Thank you.’ A polite nod.

I loitered. ‘So where are you off to?’

‘Just work.’

‘Oh yeah? Where’s that?’

He looked mildly uncomfortable. Too many questions again. Polly’s inquisition. I was no good at judging that at all.

‘Up …’ He hesitated, before shaking his head as if to tell himself it didn’t matter, and put a palm over one eye. ‘Forestry stuff. Few miles away.’

Dad singing that Monty Python lumberjack song came into my head. ‘Really? Do you wave a big chainsaw round?’

‘No.’ He gave me the same patient look.

God, it was tortuous. You couldn’t say I hadn’t tried. ‘Right. Um, OK. Have a nice one.’ I bent down to my bags.

He cleared his throat. ‘Come and drink the other one with me sometime, then.’ The jeep seemed to startle itself into firing up.