‘Always,’ said Minnie. ‘Do you have someone to help you warm them up? They’re fresh this morning but could do with thirty minutes in the oven.’

‘Yes, everyone likes to volunteer on pie day,’ said Mrs Mentis, licking her lips. Then she turned her attention back to Quinn, who was stacking boxes straight into the fridge. ‘Oh isn’t he helpful? Is this the boyfriend Alan mentioned?’

Mrs Mentis waggled a finger at Quinn.

‘Afraid not, I’m just the driver,’ Quinn explained.

‘You haven’t taken Alan’s job I hope?’ Mrs Mentis frowned. ‘The ladies upstairs would be most aggrieved. They like having a cuppa with Alan, they do – bit of a dish, they say. Not that Quint here isn’t, but not such a one for the over-sixties perhaps.’

‘Don’t write me off too quickly, Mrs Mentis, you haven’t seen me play bridge.’

Mrs Mentis let out a slow, throaty chuckle. ‘I can see why he’s your type, dear – nice to have a bit of girth to hold onto, isn’t it?’

Minnie’s eyes widened; Mrs Mentis was prone to getting words slightly wrong. Minnie doubted she meant to use the word ‘girth’.

‘No, he’s not my type, Mrs Mentis, Quinn’s just a friend helping me out today.’

Quinn silently mouthed ‘not your type?’ at Minnie, then made a mock wounded face, his dark eyebrows knitting together in overblown consternation. Minnie couldn’t help smiling.

‘You aren’t this funny journalist then?’ asked Mrs Mentis, counting the pies off on her fingers. Minnie was beginning to see why Alan took so long doing the deliveries.

‘That’s Greg, he’s ever so funny,’ said Quinn, leaning conspiratorially towards Mrs Mentis. ‘Not quite as gifted as me in the girth department though.’

Minnie let out an involuntary high-pitched noise. She clutched a hand over her mouth, turning the sound into a strangled sort of sneeze.

‘Bless you dear,’ said Mrs Mentis, turning her attention back to Quinn. ‘I used to be lithe and bonny-faced like Minnie here, you know. Had the pick of them in my day, I did.’

‘I can certainly believe that, Mrs Mentis,’ said Quinn.

‘Now Quint, while we have you here, you wouldn’t mind having a peek at the air vent in the social room, would you? It rattles no end on a windy night, and we’re hard pressed to reach. Someone of your size won’t have any problems giving it a little sort out.’

The next dozen deliveries were equally time-consuming. Quinn found himself fixing a dodgy aerial at Mrs McKenzie’s flat, volunteering to hold Mrs Terry’s wool with his ‘nice big spool hands’, then wrangling a broken flea collar back onto one of Mr Marchbanks’s cats.