Gwen knocks on Alex’s door. He’s probably at the hospital. She could go to A&E, the cut was an accident – she’d been careless with the secateurs.

‘Where are you? Need patching-up.’

She hears his phone beep inside. She knocks again, almost taking down the door.

‘It had better be a matter of life and death. I’ve covered for a colleague and haven’t slept in thirty-six hours.’

He’s wearing nothing but shorts; Gwen’s thoughts take a decidedly dirty turn. Usually, she’s in too much pain to notice how fit Alex is.

‘So, what is it this time?’

Yes, what’s it again?

***

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