Despite Phyllis nagging me to text him, Molloy had told me at the hospital that he had no idea what time he would be back, so I was in no hurry to get back to his place. Plus, I could walk there so I could have a second glass of wine. Which Phyllis poured me after a brief enquiring look. I breathed out. It felt as if today needed to end and then all could go back to normal. The right people would arrive to help with the death, we could start the big clean up and the right people would arrive to help with that too. We’d all had enough.

Finally and reluctantly, I forced myself to leave at about ten o’clock. I’d have loved to spend longer with Phyllis in her cozy kitchen with Fred at my feet, but with my phone dead I felt uneasy, so I needed to collect my charger from the office on the way to Molloy’s.

As I was pulling on my wellies, the door sounded downstairs. Phyllis had left it unlocked so she didn’t have to wade down to let Maeve in. And within a minute, the vet herself appeared, looking hungry and exhausted and in need of a hot shower and a glass of wine. I left Phyllis to provide those and I pulled on my coat again to head off alone to Molloy’s stationhouse.

The town was eerie, the streetlights reflected in the black water like a Van Gogh painting, and though I was alone on the footpath, I found myself hurrying along, sharply aware of the recent spike in violent incidents.

I reached the office with a degree of relief and went in, the door sticking a little as I opened and closed it behind me; it must have expanded in the wet. I hoped now that the rain had stopped that it would revert to its normal size in a day or two, although if an expanded door and small leak was the extent of the flood damage I’d suffered, I would consider myself as having got off lightly.