‘I’m not against knights,’ Esther said crisply – a part of her brain swerving unhelpfully to Lucas, and aware of sounding like the prude she wasn’t, ‘or lances for that matter. I’m just not that keen on people who talk crap when, by the sound of it, they’re off their heads.’

‘Is that so? Hark at the damsel. Tell me how much you want it. I know you want it—’

Esther cut him off and dropped the phone onto the table as if it were something infected. When it rang again, displaying Chris’s number, she put it on silent. Still on vibrate mode, it jiggled on the kitchen table like a child’s wind-up toy, to the great interest of Chico, who tried to jab it with his paws.

As the calls kept arriving Esther felt both a little afraid and silly for feeling so. Chris, as he had worked hard to convince her, wasn’t all bad, he was just a mess. But no one had to take on a mess if they didn’t want to, she reminded herself firmly. She snatched up the mobile and texted:

Sorry, Chris, but we really are done. Two very different people. Please do NOT contact me again. Ever.

The phone immediately fell silent. She stared at it in relief, exchanging a look with the cat, who seemed disappointed. After some thought, she took the precaution of blocking his number anyway.

When her phone buzzed with a message half an hour later, she still jumped. But it was only Marcus.

Sorry to disturb. Saw you were back. Could I drop something off in 5? Leaving v early tomorrow and it can’t really keep. Cheers, M.

Esther groaned. By then half watching TV and picking at a plate of leftovers for her supper, still somewhat rattled by Chris’s call, she couldn’t have been less in the mood for a visit of any kind.

Sure.

She texted back with a sigh, aware she must look a sight, with her skin visibly oily from the massage – having skipped the chance of a shower to get tea sorted. She put on an old favourite wool cardigan that was lying on the back of the sofa, but couldn’t summon the energy to check her face or find a hairbrush.

Five minutes later exactly, she opened the door to a sprawling bunch of yellow roses, half a bush’s worth by the look of it.

‘Sorry, they’re only from the garden… not exactly elegant.’ He lowered the flowers to offer a smile of apology. ‘They’re just to say a proper thank you for finding and fostering—’

‘You’ve had a haircut,’ Esther exclaimed, unable to hide her astonishment at the transformation.