There was the sudden crash of a door being pushed open then slammed shut about thirty yards in front of me and I guessed a couple of floors above my head. The squirrel jumped off the branch and rushed away. I wound down the window and could hear a man and woman arguing. The man was shouting at full pelt, but I could only hear the odd phrase. It sounded pretty intense. The door slammed again and that’s when I saw it.

High above me, a bicycle had been thrown from the second-floor walkway and was spinning its way down to the ground. It was the Where’s Wally? bike in all its glory and it was about to have its spine broken. It landed on the paved area in front of the stairwell. Its front forks buckled and its rear tyre was spinning like a roulette wheel. The seat had twisted full around and was pointing up to the sky.

A man emerged from the stairwell, stamped down on the front wheel with the sole of his shoe and strode away. He was tall, definitely over six foot, and looked about forty years old. He had a shaved head that he pulled off very well on account of its pleasant shape and his handsome features. He was wearing a blue suit about two sizes too small for him, and the trousers were skinny cut. Big bloke in a teenager’s suit – you see a lot of them around these days. He got into a bright red BMW 3 series and drove off at speed. A couple of minutes after he left, I grabbed the book off the passenger seat, got out of my car and went to inspect the scene.

As I approached the busted bicycle, I saw Satsuma emerge from the stairwell. Her fringe was no longer perfectly set and her hair was distressed and ruffled. She was wearing a grey dressing gown and her Doc Martens were untied. Our eyes met. She wiped her nose with the sleeve of her dressing gown and greeted me with a disappointed smile.

‘What are you doing around here?’ she asked as her eyes furtively scanned the estate.

‘Well, err, actually I was looking for you.’

‘I don’t understand. Why would you do that?’

I was stood by her now and could see that she had been crying.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I’m fine. What is it you want? It’s not really a great time for me…’

‘I can see that. Look, are you sure you’re okay? Who was that bloke who threw your bike over the walkway?’

‘That’s not really any of your business.’

I was taken aback by her indifference and coldness. This wasn’t how I had imagined our meeting would pan out. It shocked me into a more formal attitude.

‘I won’t take a minute. You remember the bloke I was drinking with in the Grove last night?’