Sheila stops short in the middle of the room. Her outstretched hand drops to her side and she makes a small “Oh” sound, but she doesn’t retrieve the letter from the bin. Instead she gives me a puzzled smile then heads for the coat stand in the corner of the room. She pulls on her waterproof jacket, grabs her oversized handbag from one of the chairs and hoists it over her shoulder.

“I’m off, then,” she says. “Are you in tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Make sure all the gates are secured before you go. We don’t want Mr Four-by-Four and his mates attempting a dognap in the middle of the night, do we?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

“I won’t.” Her smile widens and she raises a hand in goodbye then heads for the door.

Thirty seconds later, the bell above the main doors tinkles as she leaves. I fish the letter out of the bin, tuck it back into its envelope, and put it in my back pocket. Then I pick up my messenger bag and take out my mobile.

There are two texts and one missed call.

17:55 – Text from Will:

You still on for dinner tonight? x

17:57 – Missed call, Will.

17:58 – Text from Will:

Sorry, just wanted to check. You do eat sea bass, don’t you? I know there’s one kind of fish you don’t like but couldn’t remember if it was sea bass or sea bream? Not too late to pop to Tesco if you don’t like it!

Shit, I forgot I was supposed to be going to Will’s for dinner.

The phone vibrates in my hand and a tinkling tune fills the air.

Will.

I’m tempted to swipe from right to left and pretend I’m working late, but he’ll only worry and ring back.

“Hello?” I press the phone to my ear.

“Jane!” He says my name jubilantly, his voice infused with warmth.

“Hi! Sorry I didn’t get back to you about dinner but I’ve only just finished my shift. One of the dogs developed explosive diarrhoea when I was doing final checks, so I had to strip his bed and get it in the washing machine.”

“Mmmm, explosive diarrhoea. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

He laughs. I want to laugh too but I can’t.

“So, are you still on for tonight, then?” The smallest note of tension enters his voice. Ours is still a fledgling relationship in many ways. We’re still on best behaviour, still testing the waters, still figuring each other out. “Because I’ve got a bet with Chloe, you know.”

Chloe’s his daughter. She’s nine. Will’s not officially divorced from her mum yet, but they’ve been separated for eighteen months and, according to him, living separate lives a lot longer than that.

“What kind of bet?”

“She thinks you’ll be dead by morning.”