‘Yeah. A new skim. But we just can’t get anybody. They say they’ll do it and then they don’t turn up. I mean, they’re quoting like a thousand pounds because it’s two big rooms, high ceilings, and my boyfriend’s happy to pay it just to get it done, but they still end up leaving you hanging. When I realised who you were back there, I just wondered if it was worth asking whether maybe you could do it? It would be cash in hand. Michael withdrew it to pay this other guy who let us down.’

Croft was already nodding. She saw his eyes flash when she mentioned the price quoted, and if there was any question of him squirming on the hook, it evaporated with the words ‘cash in hand’.

‘Aye, I could manage that.’

‘Could you do it for the same money?’

‘Sure, aye. Sounds fair enough. Unless it’s like a mansion or something.’

‘I wish. But see, the other thing is when. After all this time, as you can imagine, we’re just sick looking at it, so the sooner the better. I don’t suppose you could manage next week?’

He glanced away a moment, calculating. He wasn’t much of an actor.

‘I’d have to move something, but I could manage next Monday.’

‘Oh, thank you, so much,’ she gushed, with not entirely fake sincerity. ‘You’ve really bailed me out of a hole.’

They traded mobile numbers and she gave him the address. What she had from the bodycam was probably plenty, but if that wasn’t enough, it would definitely sink him to turn up with all his kit next Monday at Jim’s flat in Hyndland.

As she watched him walk away, continuing as he had originally intended along Great Western Road, she felt this almighty endorphin rush, which combined with everything else that had flooded her system over the past five minutes made her whole body thrum. Suddenly, everything seemed possible. She could do this job. Not only that, she could act: she could play a part under pressure, she could improvise, anything.

She found herself hurrying back along Byres Road. She would join Charlotte and her pals at their table and explain. Charlotte would lap it up too: it was an amazing – and true – story, one that showed what a colourful character Jasmine was, someone with background and depth, someone who was acting on a razor’s edge like none of them had ever experienced.

She broke into a jog, then almost a sprint, slaloming pedestrians, giggling to herself as she turned the corner on to Cresswell Street.

The table was empty. Charlotte and her friends had gone.

Of course.

Jasmine screws up.

Whodunit

‘Mum, what does whodunit mean?’ Duncan asked, as Catherine tucked his Ben 10 duvet tightly around his shoulders.

‘I’ll tell you in the morning. Time for you both to go back to sleep.’