‘Who was that?’ Nick demanded as Mr Wilmslow disappeared, carelessly tossing an armful of mail on to the bed, narrowly missing Carey’s damaged leg. ‘Finally remembered to bring all your letters. Sorry,’ he added, as Carey winced. ‘Leg hurting?’

‘Of course it’s bloody hurting! It hasn’t stopped hurting since some nameless bastard decided to swipe me off my bike – and the physiotherapist is a sadist.’

‘She’s a very attractive sadist,’ Nick said, with a grin. ‘She can torture me any time she likes, you ungrateful sod! But I’m sure they’re sick of the sight of you now and need to get rid of you so someone else can have your bed.’

‘And I want to get out of here too, God knows.’

The fact that he would be leaving on his own two feet was, he acknowledged, largely due to the fact that his actress mother had flown back from America immediately the news of the accident had reached her and set about charming and bullying the surgeons into renewed attempts to save the mangled and broken thing that was his left leg.

As if he’d read Carey’s mind, Nick said, ‘Daisy should have had the same trust in the surgeons that your mother had, not dropped you like a hot potato the moment she got the news.’

‘She did go to all the trouble of writing to explain she had a phobia of hospitals and illness … and how she’d been meaning to tell me she was moving out of the flat anyway, because she felt our relationship just wasn’t working,’ Carey said, though at the time his girlfriend’s abrupt severance of their relationship had hurt him deeply.

‘Lying cow! And I told you she’s already shacked up with your replacement on the series, didn’t I?’

Carey shrugged. ‘Director’s assistant perks? And everyone’s told me, though I can’t say I care any more. How did you get on at the flat?’

Nick had been organizing the packing and storage of Carey’s belongings before the sale of the flat was finalized, and Daisy had arranged to meet him there that day to collect a few things she’d left behind and hand over her set of keys.

Nick, who had flung his lanky frame into the armchair, his Converse-shod feet dangling over the arm, suddenly sat upright. ‘There was something I meant to tell you the minute I got here and I completely forgot!’ he exclaimed. ‘Daisy’d already been to the flat and she’d left you this note.’

He pulled a crumpled bit of paper out of his pocket and handed it over.

There was no greeting, or polite wishes for his continued recovery, it simply read:

I can’t cope with Tiny any more. Circumstances have changed and anyway, he’s become quite impossible. You bought him, so it’s up to you to decide what to do with him.