Another mad day at work with me constantly fielding calls to Rose as, naturally, she is being besieged with requests for interviews. We have issued a statement, the gist of which is as follows: Whoops, something went wrong. Although the rogue batch won’t harm anyone, we’re still very sorry and will make sure it never happens again.

If your child had guzzled a packet of rabbit pellets, I don’t think you’d find it adequate. Meanwhile, rumours begin to emerge that – shhhhh! – this kind of thing happens all the time, and no one ever finds out about it. After all, pet products can be made from lower-grade ingredients than human-edible foods, and aren’t subjected to the same stringent tests. And rumour has it that, sometimes, a human-edible product might be, ahem, blended with a little of ‘something else’.

‘But you didn’t hear it from me,’ whispers Jean, a shrewd woman in her sixties who has handled the payroll since something like 1982 and knows everything that goes on. We are huddled in the ladies, washing our hands. There’s been a lot of gossiping in the loos since all this came out. I don’t think anyone’s got any proper work done.

‘It’s amazing it hasn’t come out before,’ I murmur.

‘It’ll all stop now, of course,’ she adds. ‘But it’s going to mean a massive overhaul with a ton of investment into PR and image and all that.’

‘Really? You reckon it’ll go that far?’

Jean nods. ‘Could be interesting for someone like you, with your background.’

‘I was a stage manager, Jean,’ I remind her. ‘I don’t think that’ll ever be relevant here.’

‘You never know how things’ll turn out,’ she says, giving me a knowing look. ‘I’ve heard serious talk about the company having to pull out all the stops to seem like a fantastic, modern-day employer.’ She pauses. ‘So, for people like you, bunnygate might turn out to be a good thing.’

‘You really think so?’

‘You know Rose,’ she says. ‘She’ll soon stop looking at this as an almighty disaster and turn it round to be some kind of fantastic opportunity instead.’

Christ, I do hope she’s right. Whilst I’ve never loved the place exactly, I hadn’t imagined they’d go to such lengths in order to maximise profits. Now, I feel grubby inside; grubbier, even, than when I was rabidly googling images of Estelle Lang. Why can’t I have an honourable job, like Andy has? Whatever I think of him, at least he does something worthwhile that helps people. Not me, maybe, but his patients. I can’t deny him that.