It was after the third mug of Jack Daniels that it all went weird. A moment of sheer madness, the sort when you’re thinking, Oh no, what am I doing? I need to stop right now, but are unable to stop, driven by an almost ghoulish compulsion to see it through to the bitter end, despite the background awareness of the potential consequences.

Ralph was just there, kneeling in front of her in his office. Pissed as a fart, but still a very sexy man – tall and broad and reassuring. More than that, he was sympathetic and – unexpectedly – so flattering and comforting that, in that moment, her body completely disobeyed her brain and conscience, and she was overcome with a great wave of pheromones and whisky-fuelled lust and emotion.

Ralph, her friend and boss. Worse: Ralph, her friend’s husband.

For the first hour everything had been on solid ground. She would have laughed derisively if someone had told her what was about to happen. At work, she was just Meredith From the Shop – solid, reliable Meredith.

At first they had discussed work stuff, albeit in slightly slurred voices. Ralph was rambling on about a newly hired gardener who had apparently lied at interview and therefore got the job under false pretences. Meredith wasn’t really paying attention. She still felt horribly disturbed by the break-in at the shop the day before, and by having to talk to the police.

If only Ralph hadn’t changed the subject and asked what was bothering her. If they hadn’t veered into personal problems territory, it would never have happened.

It wasn’t unusual for Ralph to take an interest in her private life, although they had previously only discussed it when Paula was there too. Meredith’s hapless love life was a well-worn topic that, both Ralph and Paula laughed, they enjoyed vicariously. So she pretended this was what was bothering her now. She couldn’t risk articulating her fears; it would have made her sound paranoid.

‘That bloke Gary dumped me at the weekend, after three weeks. I just have no luck with men at all,’ she pronounced weakly. She’d gone on a few dates with Gary off Tinder, and yes, as dates went, she thought he had potentially been someone she could possibly stand to look at in the morning, maybe even more than once; but Gary had clearly thought otherwise. Perhaps her ambivalence about the whole mating business had slowly leached through her carefully cultivated persona, like armpit sweat through silk.

‘Gary’s an idiot, then. You’re a huge catch,’ Ralph had said staunchly, propelling himself across the room on his office chair and grabbing the bottle of Jack from the top of the filing cabinet. He scooted back with it and replenished his mug. It smelled so good as he poured.