‘That’s him.’ The other doctor fixed me with a strange look. His tone was sympathetic, but it didn’t show on his face. ‘Oh dear. Obviously you haven’t heard what happened?’

I lurched to the door. I needed to hold on to something – the wall, anything. I knew, somehow, that whatever I was about to hear was going to knock me right off my feet.

Nora

Nora

I had just ripped out a long, satisfying frond of Japanese knotweed when I heard the taxi pull up. I’d been watching from the window as Suzi left in one earlier that day, I didn’t know where to. No doubt when we spoke she would pretend she’d just needed something in the shops. Lying came so easily to her – I wondered if she even realised how rare that was. Or maybe she’d been forced into it, like an animal backed into a corner. She had been so upset the day before, finding the dead rabbit in her planter. Across the road, I had heard her scream. In the still cold air, it echoed like a gunshot.

‘Suzi! What is it?’ I’d hurried across the lane, this time forgetting to look for cars myself.

Suzi was shaking, pointing into the planter, a silly thing made to look like half a barrel. ‘Is it him? Oh God, Nora!’

I didn’t understand what she meant. In it was something dead, shining red viscera and fur and bone. Unpleasant, but nothing a country person wouldn’t be used to.

Suzi was crying. ‘How could he get in there? Oh God. It’s my fault.’

I realised she thought it was the dog. Sternly, I said, ‘Suzi, this is far too small to be Poppet. Look, it’s a rabbit or something, that’s all.’

‘Oh.’ She opened her eyes and looked properly. ‘But how did it get in there?’

‘Foxes, I suppose. They can do terrible damage.’ I imagined Suzi was one of those sentimental types who fed predators, instead of wiping them out as was needed. ‘Come on, it’s not Poppet. Is there still no sign of him?’

She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘No. I’m not sure what else we can do. Nick’s already put out posters with a reward.’ A thousand pounds, he had offered. An insane amount for what was, after all, just an animal. I could imagine what my mother would have said about that. She’d had my favourite King Charles spaniel put down when his vet bills went over a hundred pounds.

‘He’s fine,’ I’d reassured her. ‘I know he’s just fine.’ But I didn’t think she believed me.

Now, as I watched, she paid the taxi driver, fumbling the notes, and from my garden I could see she was shaking, breathing hard. Something had happened. Perhaps it was time.