‘Fancy it?’ she dangled the soggy offering before her ginger cat. His eyes narrowed in silent protest of her presence on the sofa. Most evenings, Sherlock preferred to watch Pointless re-runs on his own. ‘Alaska,’ Sarah blurted, as the quiz show host asked for US states ending with an ‘a’. She plopped her fish finger back onto her plate before rising to empty the remnants into the recycling caddy in the kitchen.

‘How about a nice juicy chicken leg?’ she shouted, her head in her fridge.

‘Don’t give him that, he’ll choke on it.’

Sarah’s lips thinned at the sound of David, her husband. He shouldn’t even be here. She told herself not to respond.

‘There you go, Sher, knock yourself out,’ she said, as the chicken landed with a bump on the living-room rug. She sensed her husband’s disapproval and she liked it. Sherlock’s tail gave a couple of thumps against the sofa cushion before he pounced on the chicken leg. The soft swish of the cat flap followed as he disappeared with it into the night. One day he’d find somewhere more deserving of his nobility and never come back.

Sarah glanced around her drab bungalow, wishing she had the energy to clean the place up. It wasn’t as if she’d been busy this last twelve months. Busy eating, maybe. The sofa made a scrunching noise when you sat on it, because of all the sweet wrappers shoved down the sides. Biscuit crumbs littered the creases of the cushions, and she dare not look behind it for fear of the cobwebs lurking there. There was a wine stain in the shape of Italy on her carpet, and the kitchen floor was only clean because she’d used Fairy liquid after she ran out of dishwashing tablets and suds had spilt onto the lino. At least she’d had the presence of mind to get her suit dry-cleaned for tomorrow. The sharp ring of her landline almost made her jump out of her skin. It was so seldom that anyone called that it took her a second to figure out what it was. Even the cold callers didn’t bother because she kept them on the line so long. She reckoned they had put her on a blacklist of some sort.

‘Hello?’ she said, into the heavy, old-fashioned handset.

‘It’s Gabby,’ a voice replied in a no-nonsense tone. Sarah straightened at the sound of her voice, her hand automatically going to her forehead and tugging on her fringe. It was a nervous tic that she was barely aware of anymore.

‘Oh … h … hello, Sarge,’ Sarah stuttered, wishing she’d been pre-warned about the call. Then she could have given herself a pep talk, worked out what she was going to say.

‘Just checking you’re still up for tomorrow, everything OK?’

‘Yes,’ Sarah said, still fiddling with her fringe. ‘Looking forward to it.’

‘Good. Don’t let me down.’