Phyllis nodded, arms already full of books, and making for the winding staircase that led to her flat. “I have some boxes upstairs. I’ll bring them down and we can fill them. That way we can move more at a time.”

There was a knock on the glass of the shop door, and a bearded face appeared. It was Jude, the motorcycle guy from the night before. He pointed to the sandbags. “Are you closed?”

“Flood danger,” I called back.

“Everything all right? Need any help?”

Phyllis shouted from halfway up the stairs. “Oh, yes please! Let him in.”

I opened the door and with a tinkle of the bell he was inside.

“You’re a life saver,” Phyllis said from the stairs. “Grab an armful of books, there’s a good wee man.” I had to laugh, the man was about six foot four, and broad with it.

It turned out we didn’t need to call Liam after all. With the only route upstairs being the narrow winding staircase from bookshop to flat, any more than three people moving books would have been chaos. It took the three of us about two hours to move everything.

By the time we’d finished, Phyllis’s flat was almost impossible to navigate with books on every surface, every inch of floor and every stick of furniture, but at least we had saved them all. Every last volume. And the flood was unlikely to reach the first floor, with a bit of luck.

My arms ached as I sat with Jude in Phyllis’s sitting room, surrounded by walls of books, having tea and ginger cake, Phyllis’s reward for helping out. Fred, Phyllis’s dog, was sitting with his head on one of Jude’s Doc Martens-clad feet, enjoying the attention and the ear rubs on offer.

Phyllis smiled as she set a second pot of tea on the table. “Do you have a dog?” she asked.

Jude shook his head. There was a film of sweat on his brow. Like us, he looked done in. “I used to. A border collie just like this handsome fella. But he died last year.”

“Ach, I’m sorry.” Phyllis managed to convey sympathy as well as amusement at the notion of Fred as handsome. Loveable though he was, having transferred his affection to Phyllis after his previous owner died, Fred had always been a bit of a scruff.

“Ah, he was a good age,” Jude said. “And it was becoming difficult after the girls moved out. I wanted to travel on the bike, and I couldn’t take him with me.”

“You could have got a sidecar.” Phyllis grinned, and I imagined her doing just that with Fred if she ever took up biking. She sat back down on the sofa with a groan. “So, what about this poor man who died last night? Did you know him well then?”