‘You not feeling so great today?’ He shoots me a sympathetic look.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘The human-sized dog basket?’

I smile at his humour. ‘I’m fine. Just having a lazy day.’

‘Now I know you’re not right. You don’t choose to have lazy days. You’re as restless as a cat on a hot tin roof.’

‘Here, get that down you.’ I hand him a mug of tea.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve any biscuits?’

‘Sorry. Apple and peanut butter?’

‘Not ditched the obsession with healthy eating, I see. Surely a couple of biscuits on a Saturday isn’t the worst thing.’

I shrug and put my own mug on the coffee table, then clear my duvet to one side so we can both take a seat.

‘So, you’re doing OK? You’re coping all right down here?’ Dom ventures into the subject of my health once again, which irks me a little.

‘I’m doing fine, Dom. You don’t need to keep asking. Is it so strange to think that I’ve changed? That I might now enjoy a bit of R&R? We haven’t seen each other in months and a lot has happened since then.’

Dom looks like he’s been kneed in the balls. ‘Sorry. Just trying to be supportive.’

‘There’s no need. I’m doing fine by myself. What would be helpful is if you’d tell me what the hell you’re doing here.’ My words come out a little more aggressively than I’d intended. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean it like that. But this is a pretty big shock, and for some reason you’re the one asking the questions.’

‘I was being friendly… trying to chat. You know, like humans do.’

‘Don’t even try that management bullshit on me, Dom. Putting me at ease and strengthening the rapport between us before approaching a more challenging subject. It’s me you’re talking to, not one of your team.’

‘Right, sure.’ Dom shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘As you’re in no mood for the niceties, I’ll get to the point.’

‘Please do.’

‘Were you always this brutal?’

‘I’ve always been focused and to the point, you know that.’

‘Sure.’ He nods uncertainly, as if trying to flick through his brain’s memory bank to fact-check this. ‘Well, to answer your question about how I know where you live, I’ll fess up. I got in touch with your sister.’

‘You must have been desperate.’

‘She was OK actually. Seemed happy enough to pass the info on.’

‘That doesn’t sound like my sister. We haven’t spoken since I told them I was moving here. Did she mention that?’

‘No, actually. I know you’ve never been the best of pals. Did you have a falling-out?’

I roll my eyes at that understatement. ‘She and my mother didn’t agree with my decision to move here. They made it clear they wanted nothing to do with “such ridiculousness”. Told me to get in touch when I came to my senses, or when I had my next relapse and needed to move back – whichever came first. Proper Little House on the Prairie family love.’ I lift my tea and sip from it.