I add my brand-new PO Box and a series of x’s at the end of the message for good measure. He may not send it to me, he may insist on waiting and giving it back when I return, but it’s worth a shot. I don’t know how much longer I can lie to Cain about it. What if he offers to pick up the resized ring from the jewellers? How long does it take to get a ring resized anyway?

The ambulance lurches as Scotty presses the brake hard, I look up and find we’re parked outside a tiny brick flat.

‘This is the one,’ he says.

I shove my phone in my pocket and climb out, striding towards the door.

The call is an elderly widower. Every paramedic has these cases. Lonely elderly people who call in for emergency assistance for false ailments, whether they believe them to be false or not. Some have other issues – mental health conditions, chronic pain – but almost all of them are simply lonely. Today I’m the lead. I find the woman lying alone in her living room. She had triggered the emergency alarm she wears on her wrist.

She’s eighty-seven and has lived alone for twenty-one years. Most of the people in this block are elderly. The flats are single level, most single bedroom by the looks of them. Ramps installed out front.

‘Hello, Anne,’ I say, crouching down on the floor. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve had a spill,’ she says. I check her over then gently help her to her feet and run through her vitals; nothing is amiss. We get her to the couch. She’s not moving entirely freely but she’s doing well for her age.

‘Everything looks okay, you be careful in the future.’

‘Before you go,’ she says. ‘Would you put the kettle on for me?’

Scotty and I share a look. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘If you’re having a cuppa, mind if we stay for one? We’ve been run off our feet today.’

He’s got that big grin going now and the light through the door illuminates his ginger hair. There’s something about the way he talks today, the care he takes with his consonants, speaking slowly like they might shatter in his mouth. And he completes each small task, like pushing his torch back into his belt, with exaggerated care.

‘We’ve got time, don’t we, Lina?’

It seems like a kindness, but the cynic in me suspects it’s laziness. We can’t accept another call until we are done here and Scotty might be killing time to bring about the end of the shift faster. I give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘Sure.’

‘Oh that would be lovely,’ she says. ‘I’ve got some biscuits somewhere here too.’