In his late forties perhaps, he had a pale countenance topped with reddish hair going to grey and a short moustache.

Recognition blossomed. She knew this guy. His name was Frank. He was a policeman. He was her boss.

Frank was wearing some kind of faded blue boiler suit with splotches of paint on it, and he was holding a bag of tools in one hand. He was panting, slightly out of breath.

He surveyed them all, his face breaking into a welcoming grin.

‘Afternoon all,’ he said.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ growled Shane menacingly.

‘I’m the plumber. The estate agency sent me.’

He turned his attention to Bailey.

‘I presume you’re Ms Sharpe. I’m here to fix the low water pressure. Just as you requested. The agency gave me the keys as they weren’t sure whether you’d be in or not.’

Bailey stared at him, her mouth hanging open vacantly.

The four men exchanged suspicious glances. They seemed unsure how to react.

‘Come back later,’ grunted Rick.

‘I can’t,’ said Frank jovially. ‘I’ve got a whole load of jobs on my list.’ He held up his phone. ‘Talk to my boss if you want. He’ll go spare if I don’t get them all done today. I’ll dial him right now and you can talk to him.’

Before they had a chance to respond, he squeezed past Shane and blundered through the living room, halting in front of Bailey. Beneath the happy-go-lucky demeanour, his watery blue eyes assessed her in a cool and calculating manner.

‘Which tap has the problem, Ms Sharpe?’

She gazed up at him. She slowly frowned. She wasn’t Ms Sharpe. She was Ms Morgan. She began to shake her head.

Frank’s eyes narrowed as he saw that something wasn’t right. He quickly rephrased the question. ‘Your name’s Bailey, right?’

That was an easy question. Her name was indeed Bailey.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right. My name’s Bailey.’

‘Bailey, where’s the tap with the low water pressure?’

Another easy question. No effort. No problem.

‘It’s in the kitchen,’ she said slowly, her voice slurring slightly.

Shane marched up to Frank. He looked him up and down, taking in the manky boiler suit… and the incongruous pair of shiny black Oxfords.

‘You’re a plumber?’ he said, his face screwing up sceptically. ‘You don’t look much like a plumber to me.’

‘We come in all shapes and sizes,’ said Frank, easing past him into the kitchen.

Shane frowned angrily and walked in after him, watching Frank closely as he put the bag of tools down on the kitchen worktop.

Shane eyed him suspiciously. ‘You look like you should be on Rogue Traders.’

Frank shrugged agreeably and turned his attention to the sink.

He fiddled with the tap, turning it on and off. A dribble of water came out. He nodded gravely.

‘Mmm,’ he murmured. ‘Definitely low water pressure.’

Shane stepped in closer, moving well into Frank’s personal space, looming over him in the small kitchen. He put his face right up close to the side of Frank’s head in a blatantly intimidating manner. Frank studiously ignored him, appearing to focus all of his attention on the tap. Shane suddenly frowned and his nose wrinkled.