‘I know, I’m sorry, Esther. But the autumn is already mad-busy workwise for both of us – not to mention four new terms starting at four different educational institutions to get on top of. The weekends have all been gobbled up.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And by the way, how’s that sick neighbour of yours?’ she added, sounding a bit more like the old Viv.

‘No word as yet. The bloody cat appeared and then vanished again.’

‘Annoying. But remember, it was a favour asked of you, and nothing you should beat yourself up about.’

‘I shall. Thanks, Viv. Sorry to have disturbed your morning, and see you soon.’

Feeling slightly abandoned, Esther had been left recalling her homecoming and the thwarted hopes of herding Carmela’s pet in through her front door. At the final moment, intuiting her intentions, the animal had scrambled sideways, hurdling the low fence into Dimitri and Sue’s front garden and then disappearing through the tangle of gnarled and sprawling rhododendrons separating them from the next house along.

‘Well, at least we know he is around,’ Sue had declared cheerfully, knocking on Esther’s door a little later, having been alerted to the situation by text. ‘Which is something good to report to Marcus – when he gets in touch. There’s not been a peep all week. But how was your holiday?’ she had urged. ‘I must have got it wrong, because I thought you weren’t back till the weekend.’

Esther had said she hadn’t got it wrong and did she have time for a cup of tea? The Dylan trauma had started tumbling out of her before the kettle boiled. Apart from getting up to fetch Esther’s kitchen roll, placing it near Esther when she sat down at the table with their mugs, Sue had stayed quietly in her chair. Sipping her tea, she’d let Esther talk herself out, offering no attempt at comforting sound-bites except, ‘He’s your boy and he loves you,’ which she’d said several times over, between tearing off sheets of the kitchen paper to blow her own nose.

Would weedkiller reduce her workload? Esther wondered, eyeing up some huge, ready-to-spray dispensers, complete with shoulder straps for easy deployment, and picturing herself, Ghostbuster style, blitzing every bramble in the garden. The display was out of reach, giving her the idea of balancing on a lower shelf for a closer look. It was in this position that her attention was caught by a man who looked uncannily like Chris Mews, standing at the far end of the next aisle. Hopping off the shelf, Esther gingerly ventured nearer, using a handy cluster of yucca plants as cover.