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?