Then the door buzzer, telling her someone was outside and wanting in. She waited, didn’t move. Her fingers were so tight around the glass that they began to cramp. She changed hands. The buzzer again.

No no no no …

Just leave it, Grant. Get in the Alfa and go home. Tomorrow we can start pretending it never happened.

Bzzzz bzzzz zzzz …

She began to hum softly to herself, a tune she was making up. Not even a tune really; just sounds to compete with the buzzer and the blood singing in her ears.

She heard a car door close, relaxed a little. Nearly dropped the glass when her phone started ringing.

She could see it by the light of the streetlamp. It was lying on the floor by the sofa. Six rings and the answering machine would kick in. Two … three … four …

Maybe the Farmer!

‘Hello?’ She slumped on to the sofa, phone to her ear.

‘Siobhan? It’s Grant.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’ve just been ringing your doorbell.’

‘Mustn’t be working. What can I do for you?’

‘Letting me in would be a start.’

‘I’m tired, Grant. Just going to bed.’

‘Five minutes, Siobhan.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Oh.’ The silence was like a third party, some huge, humourless friend only one of them had invited.

‘Just go home, eh? I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘That might be too late for the Quizmaster.’

‘Oh, you’re here to talk about work?’ She slid her free hand up her body, tucking it beneath the arm holding the phone.

‘Not exactly,’ he admitted.

‘No, I didn’t think so. Look, Grant, let’s call it a moment of madness, eh? I think I can live with that.’

‘That’s what you think it was?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘What are you scared of, Siobhan?’

‘How do you mean?’ Her voice hardening.

A short silence before he relented, telling her: ‘Nothing. I didn’t mean anything. Sorry.’

‘I’ll see you in the office then.’

‘Right.’

‘Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll crack the clue tomorrow.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. Goodnight, Grant.’

‘’Night, Shiv.’

She ended the call, didn’t even take the time to tell him she hated ‘Shiv’: girls at school had used it. One of her boyfriends at college had liked it, too. He told her it was slang for a knife. Siobhan: even the teachers at her school in England had had trouble with her name. ‘See-Oban’ they’d pronounce it, and she would have to correct them.

Night, Shiv …

Stupidbitch …

She heard his car move off, watched the play of headlights across her ceiling and far wall. She sat there in the dark, finishing her drink without tasting it. When her phone rang again, she swore out loud.

‘Look,’ she roared into the mouthpiece, ‘just let it go, okay?’

‘Well … if you say so.’ It was the Farmer’s voice.

‘Oh, hell, sir, I’m sorry.’

‘Expecting another call?’

‘No, I … maybe another time.’