‘I’m fine with a sandwich.’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘No client’s worth killing yourself over.’

‘I’m OK, honestly.’

‘You are so not OK.’ She peered at him closely. ‘You really don’t look right.’

‘I’m shaken by what I saw and stressed over the sketch, that’s all – and tired; I’ll take it easy after I’ve finished it – have a chill day tomorrow.’

‘You need to.’

He gobbled down his sandwich and hurried back up to work, carrying a large, strong coffee. He stopped at their bedroom to take two paracetamols from the bathroom cabinet and swallow them, then went on up to his studio and sat briefly at his desk, logging on. A few emails that needed responses. They could wait until tomorrow. He glanced at Instagram, aware it was a week since he had last posted anything there. He quickly liked a number of new posts.

Then he walked to his easel, pencil in hand, and studied the photograph of the spaniel rested on the easel’s shelf. He liked drawing this breed of dog – with its big, floppy ears and this one’s regal pose – and it was his portfolio of spaniel sketches that had led to the Northcote Gallery first taking a serious interest in his work.

A few hours, he figured. That’s all it would take him. A £1000 fee. Good money – and for doing what he loved. What was not to like?

He sipped his coffee and set to work, all his concerns parked in another compartment of his mind.

Sometime after 2 a.m. he had finished the sketch. He went downstairs and, after undressing and brushing his teeth as quietly as he could, he took a further two paracetamols for his headache and slipped into bed. Emily stirred, murmuring, ‘Did you get it done?’

‘Yep.’

‘Love you.’

He kissed her and was asleep, exhausted, seconds later.

43

Tuesday 18 December

Jason woke shortly after 7 a.m. and went through to the bathroom. As he came back into the bedroom, Emily was sitting up, her bedside lamp on, smiling sleepily. ‘You finished the sketch?’

‘Yep! I told you when I came to bed.’

‘Well done.’ She looked across at his pillow and saw it was covered in dried blood. ‘Turn around and show me the back of your head, darling.’

He sat on the bed to let her check the wound beneath the bandage.

After removing it, tenderly, she said, ‘It’s looking clean – and it seems to have closed up a little. Keep it dry in the shower and I’ll put a fresh dressing on it. I’d still prefer you to get it looked at.’

Hospitals gave him the heebie-jeebies. ‘It’s fine.’

Half an hour later they sat at the kitchen table, with the breakfast news on the television, the sound almost muted. Emily sipped one of the protein smoothie shakes she was currently into, and Jason ate a mouthful of porridge.

‘What’s your plan for today?’ he asked.

‘I’m meeting Louise in Lewes for a coffee, then we’re going off to do a massive shop for the freezers – hopefully get everything we’ll need for that twenty-fifth wedding anniversary do.’