Will sent me a text at 5 p.m. saying they were putting in a late one at work to go over something OFSTED related before the weekend, and then he was taking his department off to the pub to say thank you for all their hard work. He apologised profusely, explaining there was no way he could get out of it, but I was very welcome to join them. I turned him down. I’ve never met any of his work colleagues and I find small talk with strangers exhausting, particularly when I’ve got other things on my mind. Will isn’t the sort of man to turn up drunk for a leg-over after a night’s heavy drinking, so I knew I’d be spending the night alone.

I did everything I could to avoid going to bed. I watched a crime drama on TV, then a documentary about life on benefits, and then, with nothing else that even vaguely appealed, I watched back-to-back episodes of Battlestar Galactica until I fell asleep on the sofa somewhere around 3 a.m. I woke with a start at six, grateful to see the sun creeping over the horizon.

“You don’t look great,” Sheila says. “You need to eat some more of that cake Angharad brought you. She said you seemed a bit out of sorts. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Honestly, I’m fine.” I wriggle out of my waterproof and hang it up on the coat stand. There’s no sign of the red, wool-blend winter coat it usually hangs beside. “Angharad not in?”

Sheila shakes her head. “She doesn’t do Saturdays. You’ve got Barry working with you today.”

Barry’s one of the regular volunteers. He’s sixty-three, almost completely bald and as wiry as they come, but he’s strong. You’d never know it from his soft, lilting Welsh accent, but he used to be a sergeant major in the army. The dogs know it, though: they never put a foot wrong when Barry’s taking them for a walk. They respect and adore him in equal measure.

“You’ve got quite the fan there, you know,” Sheila adds.

“What, Barry?”

“No.” She laughs. “Angharad. Little Miss Twenty Questions she was yesterday at lunchtime. ‘How long have you known Jane? Has she got a boyfriend? She’s very secretive, isn’t she? She never talks about her private life.’ You know what, Jane, if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone had a bit of a crush on you!”

“Sheila!”

“Not like that!” She laughs again, flashing the sizeable gap between her front teeth. “It just seems a bit hero-worshippy to me. I think maybe she’s found her vocation here. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she starts enquiring about training and a full-time position. You know me; I’m a good judge of character. I employed you, after all!”