‘You’d look even dafter covered in my muck heap,’ said Ron, reaching for his best dark blue suit and fresh white shirt. ‘Go upstairs and put the kettle on while I wash and change. Wee Fran’s on earlies today and I suspect Peggy will be up and about soon.’

Once Frank had left the bedroom, Ron sank onto the unmade bed and let his shoulders slump as Harvey rested his muzzle on his knee, his hazel eyes limpid with sympathy. Ron had loved those ferrets – and now, through his own carelessness, he had lost them. He eyed the empty cage and gave a deep sigh. He could only pray that Flora and Dora were the only things he lost today.

Deciding he had to carry on regardless, he quickly washed in the scullery sink, cleaned his teeth, and then had a shave before getting dressed. Eyeing his reflection in the fly-spotted mirror above the chest of drawers, he grimaced. His eyes were bloodshot and even after a shave he looked old, wan and tired – hardly the most dashing of suitors. Perhaps he was a fool to think that someone as glamorous as Rosie could love him enough to keep on forgiving him – but he had to remain hopeful and really put an effort into changing his ways so he became the man she deserved.

Rosie had been woken by Monty whining to be let out into the back garden. She blearily eyed the bedside clock, and was horrified to discover it was barely six in the morning. Stumbling out of bed, she pulled on her warm dressing gown and padded down the stairs in her slippers to let him out of the back door.

There was a thick mist rolling in, bringing a damp chill to the air which made the scrap of lawn glisten in the pearly light of dawn. She shivered as she stood on the doorstep and waited for Monty to cock his leg and rummage through the undergrowth of the walled garden on the scent of something that had dared to come into his territory. It was probably next door’s ginger tom, which had a habit of teasing Monty by parading along the high wall just out of his reach, and using the garden as a lavatory.

She watched the fog swirling through the remaining blossom on the nearby trees. The weather didn’t look promising, even though it was almost June, and if it went on like this, there would never be an invasion.

‘Come on, Monty. It’s too early and cold to be messing about,’ she said impatiently as he continued to dodge back and forth, nose to the ground.

Monty gave the outside lav one last inspection and then galloped towards her, his long, skinny legs darkened by the wet grass, tongue lolling and ears flapping, eager now for the ritual of a good rub-down and breakfast.