‘Is the glucose artefactual?’

‘Tested in-house. No.’

‘What else have you tested for?’

‘Parasites. We’ve done a food-allergy trial. We’ve done a faecal parasitology. Checked for UTIs. An abdo X-ray for foreign bodies, a cPLI for pancreatitis. All negative. But that’s how we got the kidney result,’ Evan says. He rubs at his hair with his hand. He has a wrist tattoo which says Love your life on it. Twat, twat, twat.

‘Tricky,’ Joe says. ‘Why is she worse after the vet?’ He hears the skittering of claws against linoleum in Evan’s consultation room and raises his eyebrows.

‘I don’t know. I said I needed to think,’ Evan says, a half-apology on his face. ‘Without them firing questions at me and the fucking dog trying to get into everything. It must be something gastro with that range of responses.’

‘Does she have diarrhoea?’

‘Sometimes. Look.’ He gets out the blood results. Joe instinctively turns away from them. The breakdown of everything contained in the blood: antibodies, plasma, red blood cells. The same as humans. The same as Will. He can smell it.

Joe disguises his reaction by sipping his coffee. It’s still too hot, and burns his lips like an allergic reaction. He stares at the wall in front of him. She’s worse after the vets’. Something is niggling at him. He whirls the coffee around in his mug and takes another burning sip.

Stress.

‘Do a basal cortisol test,’ Joe says. ‘Or, better yet, an ACTH stimulation test. I reckon atypical Addison’s. In toy breeds it’s different. The tell is that she can’t handle stress.’

‘God,’ Evan says. ‘Right. Really?’

‘We’ll see. Try it.’

Satisfied, sort of, Joe goes into the reception to see Frannie. She’s usually a great morale booster. She keeps Chinese waving cats on the reception desk and has treats for the dogs and Dreamies for the cats that she gives to the owners with their receipts. She makes it a nice place to be.

‘All right,’ he says to her, leaning his elbows on the desk. ‘Just had Evan in, whingeing.’

‘Oh, be kind to Evan,’ she says.

‘You sound like Cathy the conscientious objector.’

‘Really not,’ Frannie says, making a face. Joe helps himself to a Twix lying on her desk and she waves him away. ‘Have it, I can’t eat,’ she says.

‘I can’t stop.’

Evan arrives out in reception with the dog and her owners. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he grins, as they pay. ‘Told them it was my idea.’

‘Of course you did,’ Joe says. He finishes the Twix and holds out his hand. Frannie gives him a bag of Quavers.

‘Said I had a brainwave out back,’ Evan says with a laugh. ‘Sorry, not sorry. You eating for two, or what?’

Joe stiffens. ‘You’re a twat,’ he says. Evan thinks he’s joking and laughs loudly. ‘Looking gorgeous as ever,’ he says to Frannie, when he’s seen out his clients. He can never resist flirting with her.

‘Piss off, Evan,’ she says dispassionately.