That got me smiling again. This house had all the mod cons, which included a Rocket Coffee machine that scared the bejesus out of me. That thing looked like a chromed miniature oil refinery, with pipes and gauges and steam venting in an alarming fashion. Maggie wasn’t afraid to use it. She could make that thing sing.

‘You got my attention with the coffee. I’ll pass on the food, although I appreciate the gesture, but where does the alcohol bit come in?’

‘Patience, child. I was going to suggest that after a bite to eat – I’m insisting on that, by the way – and a spruce up, we pop down into town and have a quiet one. Unless you wanted to go up to the police bar instead?’

We usually popped into the bar on the fourth floor, saluted the Queen and settled in for a couple on a Friday evening. But tonight, for some strange reason, I didn’t quite feel up to reminders of work – or the possibility of running into a particular someone, not that he drank with the plebs.

‘No, I think I’ll give that a miss, thanks. A quiet one or five in town sounds good.’

‘Did you want me to invite anyone else along? Smithy? Paul Frost? He’s still in town, isn’t he?’

Paul had offered, and I knew Smithy would come, if asked. But in reality, the last thing I felt like was having to be sociable with blokes. Who could be bothered?

‘Nah, a girls’ night out would be good.’

Maggie was creating wondrous smells from the kitchen. Aunt and Unc had just arrived home and we were discussing the latest email from the girls, who were at a ski race event near Lake Tahoe in the US of A. Mercifully, they seemed unaware of some of the nastier events in Dunedin today, or had chosen not to mention them. Aunty Jude had been filling me in on the twins’ successes when Uncle Phil flicked on the television.