Evan flicks on the kettle, which comes to a boil again quickly. ‘How was Verona?’

‘Yeah, fine. Hot.’ Joe thinks of the hotline text and the fucking cashpoint and wonders how long he’s got. How long until they find him? Will he get a couple more weeks, months? This box of worming medication expires next year. He’s sure he won’t see it.

‘You go to the place I told you about?’ Evan crosses his legs, the toe of his shoe hitting the floor. ‘Where the locals go?’

‘Yes, yes, we went to the restaurant, and we said Evan is so cool and authentic,’ Joe says. ‘He knows only the places off the beaten track where the locals eat.’

‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Evan says, unfazed. ‘I don’t know what to do about my patient,’ he adds, jerking his thumb behind him, indicating the consultation room. ‘And I’m knackered.’

‘You always say that after our holiday,’ Joe says. Evan’s parents are lawyers, and he once joked he’d get them to sue the practice for stress.

‘That’s because it’s always a nightmare,’ Evan remarks mildly. ‘I mean – what do you call a vet who is so busy he just issues prescriptions without thinking?’

‘A doctor,’ Joe deadpans. Evan practically falls over laughing.

Joe double-checks the signed prescription against the cockapoo’s weight and reaches for his coffee. It’s too hot. ‘Well, I can’t help with tiredness,’ he says, quietly relishing this moment of … of what? Of superiority, he supposes. He is the partner and Evan is the employee. God, Joe thinks. He needs to get a life if he gets off on things like this.

‘Yeah.’ Evan rubs at his forehead. ‘Was working last night.’

‘Here?’

‘No – Deliveroo. Absolutely knackering.’

‘I can’t string a sentence together after leaving here,’ Joe says sympathetically.

‘Right,’ Evan says tightly, obviously embarrassed. Evan is a curious combination of wanting to be seen as a big shot and a victim.

‘How bad is it?’ Joe says. ‘Money-wise.’

‘I pay Ali over three grand a month, mate.’

‘Wow. Beans on toast for dinner, then,’ he quips, but, internally, he’s wondering if there’s something they could do. Increase his salary, maybe.

‘Not even that,’ Evan says with a short, sad laugh.

‘Are they in there?’ Joe asks, nodding to the consultation-room door.

‘Yeah. Two-year-old bitch – toy poodle. It has a history of weird test results. Intermittent odd symptoms.’

‘She. Not it,’ Joe says. Evan turns on the charm for patients, but doesn’t ever bother out back. ‘How old, exactly?’ Joe leans back against the counter, more relaxed than he was. Evan’s financial situation has made him feel better about his own crisis. Schadenfreude, is it called? He can’t be that bad if there’s a word for it, Joe hopes.

‘Two and a half next month.’ Evan takes off his round glasses and rubs at his eyes. ‘She’s fine, sort of. Losing weight sometimes. Not always eating meals. Intermittent vomiting but by no means often. Seems a bit stressed. Slightly low glucose. Latest test showed raised renal parameters, but she’s so young … the weird thing is she’s worse after the vets’.’