She cooks Nan’s porridge and gets her washed and dressed, handing her a toothbrush on which she’s squeezed a small slither of white and blue striped paste.

‘You did the same for me when I was little,’ she says.

‘Did I?’ Nan replies, frothy toothpaste dropping down her chin and into the sink. She spits and rinses and Chloe gently pats her face dry.

Downstairs she sits her down in front of the TV, fills her flask with tea and hands her the remote control.

The clock on the wall makes her think of the note Alec left on her desk. But this morning, everything is going to plan, she’ll even make it to work on time. She dots a kiss on Nan’s forehead.

‘Where are you going?’ Nan asks.

‘To work, Nan, I told you. I’m going to be late.’

‘But you can’t, not today. Not when someone’s stolen my greenhouse.’

By some miracle, she manages to arrive at work on time. She’d walked Nan out into the garden, and it was only as they stood among the plastic terracotta pots and the earthy smell of dried compost that she was finally persuaded that her glasshouse was still there.

At the office, the same as every morning, Chloe follows the path that has been worn into the pale blue carpet tiles all the way down to the archive. Alec is waiting there, arms crossed over his bony chest. He makes a point of checking his watch.

‘Alec, I—’

‘Save it, you can explain to Malc. I’ve asked Sandra for an appointment for us to see him.’

‘But—’

‘Like I said, save it.’

She slumps her bag down on her desk, the buckles making an angry riposte.

‘I hope you got all that filing done last night?’ Alec says.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Well, that’s one good thing,’ he says, limping over to his desk and returning with a pile taller than the one that had taken her until ten the night before. ‘You can do mine now too.’