We hadn’t been into The Green Man before, but we had heard that dogs were usually welcome, so we took Jobie along. He seemed to sense that Jack wasn’t himself and was much calmer than usual, walking at his side and constantly looking up at him. As we came through the door, all eyes were on us as we made our way to the bar. I felt awkward and somewhat conspicuous. It was quite busy for a weeknight. I looked around, taking in the surroundings. The ceiling was low, with ancient oak beams bearing the remnants of strange, long-carved shapes, and there were lots of interesting nooks and crannies. A welcoming fire crackled in an ancient stone fireplace, and the undulating timber-framed walls were adorned with fading sepia photographs depicting the village at the turn of the twentieth century. The interior had recently been refurbished, the soft furnishings replaced and the seating area carpeted, with the smell of paint still hanging in the air.

‘Evening.’ The bartender greeted us with a smile. He was a slightly built, diminutive man of about forty, unshaven, his spiky dark hair peppered with grey.

‘Hello. Are you serving food?’ Jack looked down at Jobie, who was gazing up at him adoringly. ‘It is okay to bring the dog in, isn’t it?’

‘Of course – on both counts! Grab yourselves a couple of menus and find a seat, and I’ll send someone to take your orders. I’m Steve, by the way. Haven’t you just moved in next door to old Mrs Barley?’

Jack’s bemused expression provoked an amiable laugh from the man. ‘I’ve seen you coming out of the house a couple of times. Any unusual activity round here doesn’t go unnoticed, you know. We take the idea of “Neighbourhood Watch” to a whole new level in Avoncote. There was great excitement in the village when the “Sold” sign went up.’

They shook hands across the bar.

‘That’s right. I’m Jack – this is my wife, Stina.’

Steve nodded at me, smiling. ‘Pleased to meet you both. Hope we’ll be seeing you in here often in the future – it’s nice to have some fresh blood in the village.’

We found a table near the fire and pored over the surprisingly extensive menu, both of us plumping for vegetable fajitas. Jobie flopped down at the side of the table, his tongue lolling. Jack ordered a pint of locally brewed real ale and I sipped a tropical fruit juice without any real enthusiasm. Steve from the bar kindly brought over a bowl of water for Jobie, who lapped it up appreciatively. I looked over to see a middle-aged couple at the next table staring at us, but meeting my eyes, they bowed their heads and continued their conversation in lowered voices.

‘Christ, anyone would think we’d got two heads or something,’ I whispered to Jack. He smiled weakly, but still looked despondent.