‘It’s OK. I know you’re in a hurry and I can sort him out when I get him next door.’ I bent down to stroke Anthony and was immediately hit by a wall of halitosis as he panted up at me. ‘Oh God,’ I choked, instinctively but pointlessly covering my nose and mouth with one hand in an attempt to stem the stench, whilst patting Anthony’s wet head with the other.

‘Bad, isn’t it?’ said Kerry sympathetically. ‘The vet has given him some new chews for his bad breath, but I reckon they’ve made it even worse. It’s like he’s eaten shit for breakfast.’

I nodded and stood up. ‘Just like that,’ I gasped. ‘But if you let me have his lead and his basket, I’ll take him, and his breath, off your hands and you can be off.’

She glanced up the stairs and then shook her head. ‘We’ll be lucky if we’re away before midday,’ she sighed. ‘Ollie stayed over last night and the pair of them were still pelting each other with Lego and Haribo at two a.m. I know what’ll happen; they’ll run riot on empty all day and then cry all the way home. I just love motherhood.’ She turned towards me and winked. ‘How about a cuppa? The kettle’s just boiled.’

‘But I…’ I checked my watch, keen to walk Anthony and perhaps fit in some work before lunch. ‘I really don’t want to make you late.’

She smiled up at me. ‘There’s always time for a cuppa.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘Sure and desperate,’ she said, walking down the hallway. ‘Come on. You too, Anthony.’

We obediently followed her through into the back room, with its fireplace and alcoves which, I noticed, were identical to Giles’s. But while Giles’s mantelpiece and bookshelves resembled the inner pages of a John Lewis catalogue, Kerry’s looked like a branch of Argos had thrown up on them.

Felt-tip pens, action figures, toy cars, cuddly toys and cereal packets – painted to resemble God-knows-what – occupied every inch of child-accessible space. The more usual reception room décor of three framed photographs, a bronze abstract and a vase – the latter containing a bunch of red gerberas – were relegated to the topmost shelves.

‘My favourite flower,’ I said, pointing up at the gerberas, as we made our way into a galley kitchen which, I guessed, had been tacked onto the back of the house at some point in the Seventies. It was long and narrow, with a small, metal-framed window over the sink and two Velux windows in its sloping roof. A half-glazed door at its far end opened out onto an ageing patio covered with potted plants and yet more toys.