I had been busily researching online for my article, and Jack had ordered me a wonderful but enormous hardback book from Amazon, hailed in its five-star reviews as ‘the bible for historians of Avoncote and its environs’. I was keen to start making notes. I kept one cautious eye open for further evidence of Mrs Barley’s mysterious visitor, but found it nonetheless quite therapeutic, having views out onto the garden from the table where I placed my laptop. It was a much nicer working space than the dingy, windowless box room I had used as an office in our old flat. Jobie seemed content stretched out at my feet, his chin on his paws.

Reading about the history of somewhere I could actually now relate to made the exercise more personal, and I was determined to uncover some interesting facts about the area. To be truthful, I hoped it might win me some local approval, too. I wanted to make friends within the community, and to feel that we had been accepted as fully fledged members, not outsiders. By the end of the afternoon, I had written almost a thousand words, and felt quite a sense of accomplishment.

After taking Jobie for a walk up to the pond, I lay on the settee for a while, waiting for Jack to return from work. I still kept an eye on the French doors, but there was no sign of Mrs Barley’s dark-haired intruder. A large crow startled me as it landed on the fence and hopped up towards the house. It studied me with interest for a few moments, before disappearing into next door’s garden. I shuddered. There was something about crows and magpies that left me with a creeping sense of unease, as though they were some sort of harbingers of doom. Probably the result of an overly fertile imagination.

Jack was later than ever coming home that day. He walked in through the door, his shoulders sagging, and I realised immediately from his face that something was awry. Jobie rushed to greet him in his usual ebullient way and Jack stooped to scruff his fur, then wrapped his arms round the dog’s neck. His eyes looked red and raw.

‘Hey, what’s up? Has something happened?’

He looked up at me, his face etched with misery.

‘Shit day. Really shit day. Someone brought in a young Labrador – beautiful dog. He had run into the road and been knocked down by a Transit van. We worked on him for hours but we couldn’t save him. The injuries were horrendous.’

My heart went out to him. ‘Oh, that’s awful. I’m so sorry. But you did your best.’

‘Yes, that’s just it. I did my best, but it wasn’t good enough. The guy who brought him in was distraught. Someone’s lost their best buddy and it’s because I failed them. I feel fucking awful about it.’