He knocks on the door to Freya’s room half an hour later, and she answers it. Like him, she’s got showered, and her long blonde hair is loose over her shoulders, smelling of something lovely. She’s even wearing a dress, a casual, flowing… thing. He doesn’t know how to describe it; fashion has never been his forte. Navy blue, with small white flowers. It suits her.

‘You look nice,’ he manages, after a shocked pause.

‘You don’t need to sound so surprised. You’ve made an effort, too,’ she says, shutting the door behind her.

‘I’m wearing a shirt,’ Robin mutters.

‘Exactly,’ Freya replies. ‘For you, out of work, that’s practically black tie.’

Robin drives the short journey from Newton Abbot back to Kingskerswell and parks at the Co-op. They walk down the road towards the small row of terraced houses where Robin lived his entire childhood. Brick walls, with bay windows and tiny front yards. A small metal fence runs along the front, matching metal gates. Robin points to the one on the left.

‘That was ours. We sold it when Dad died.’ He points down the row. ‘Then Sandra’s, then Josie and Finn.’

‘Poor Sandra, being sandwiched between the noisy teenagers,’ Freya remarks.

‘We used to treat her house like a second home. If ever we rowed with our parents, we’d end up at her kitchen table. And if we were all in trouble, we’d all be there, Georgia included.’

‘And Sandra never got married?’

‘No, I don’t know why. It’s just the way it was. You don’t ask when you’re a kid.’

They open the squeaky gate leading to Sandra’s front door. Two pretty pots with flowers sit on the concrete of the small yard. Robin rings the doorbell.

The door opens, letting out a waft of tantalising smells, and Robin’s stomach rumbles in response.

‘Come in, come in,’ Sandra says warmly to Robin, then steps back when she sees Freya. ‘And who are you?’

‘I’m Freya.’

Sandra gives Robin an impressed look. ‘When you said your partner was coming, too, I was expecting a bloke. I thought it was your backhanded way of coming out, Robin. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ she adds hastily. ‘But this young lady, well!’ She gives Freya a warm hug. ‘What on earth are you doing with him, my love?’

‘No, we’re not—’

‘She’s not my—’ they both say at the same time.

Robin finishes the sentence. ‘Freya’s my colleague. We work together.’

‘Oh! That explains it. She’s much too pretty for you.’

‘Thanks,’ Robin replies gruffly, while Freya laughs.

The three of them file through to Sandra’s living room. The decor is new and tidy, light blue sofas, undoubtably feminine, with a candle burning on the coffee table. A dining table with four chairs is in the room behind, and a kitchen past that.