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‘It’s just for a minute. I just need . . . a minute.’

He eyed her with concern as she sat down on the decking steps. He’d thought she looked pale before, but had assumed it was just the bad lighting. Now he could see she was still pale, and looked sweaty too. Damn, he was glad he’d kept her talking down there, because she looked about ready to burst into tears. And he hated it when women cried — a fact that Yvette seemed to use to her advantage. He put her out of his head to focus on Angela, and sat next to her on the steps.

‘I don’t mean to be rude, but do you need a hug? I mean, you look like you do, but maybe not from me.’ She didn’t respond, so he nudged her elbow with his. ‘Angela?’

When she looked at him, her eyes were overly bright.

‘Hey, come here.’ He wrapped one arm awkwardly around her shoulder, and realised she was shaking. ‘You did great, Angela, really great. We got her out, and once she — and you — have had a little break, we’ll figure out how to get the thing off her neck, and then figure out who she belongs to. OK?’

‘Yeah.’ She nodded slowly, her curls bouncing back and forth in the ponytail she’d tossed it into before rescuing the cat, who was sitting calmly in the basket, watching them with interest. As those curls bounced he noticed a lump of cobweb, and what looked like dead flies, caught in them.

‘Here, hold still a second.’ He reached out, and she jerked back a few inches. ‘You’ve picked up some cobwebs.’ He decided not to mention the deceased inhabitants.

‘Oh.’ She relaxed again. ‘Thanks.’

He wiped the cobwebs away, teasing them gently from her brown curls, which were a lot softer and silkier than he might have guessed. If he’d spent time thinking about them, which he obviously hadn’t. But, for a moment, she was very close and very warm in his arms. He found himself wanting nothing more than to cheer her up, to see her eyes flash at him again, the way they did when she was annoyed with him, or amused at something Ernie and his jennets or Ruby had done.

He dropped his hand and forced himself to look away, but kept his arm around her shoulders, reasoning that it seemed to be offering her some level of comfort, and had nothing to do with that sweet-hay, summery-evening scent below the dust.

‘So, this “not being keen on dark spaces” thing. You had that all your life? Or do you have some cool story to go with it? Did you get stuck down a hole rescuing a badger or something?’ He shot her one of his most winning smiles, trying to make her feel better.

‘No. It’s pretty new.’ It sounded like she was gritting her teeth. She tensed against him briefly, then shoved him away, glaring as she struggled to her feet. ‘Come on, we’ve got a customer.’

He was missing something, and he knew it, but he couldn’t figure out what it was, so he followed her lead and turned his attention back to the dusty, mottled cat. ‘Right then, little missy, let’s have a look at you.’

‘Why do you keep calling it that?’ Angela watched the cat as he opened the crate.

‘What?’

‘I couldn’t see the sex down there, but you keep calling it “miss” and “her” like you’re sure.’

Now she mentioned it, he realised she was right, although he had no idea why. ‘Well, it seemed rude to call her an “it”, and I have even odds on being right.’

‘Fair enough.’ She was still watching the cat, but he had a feeling it was less about the trapped animal and more to avoid looking at him. He studied the cat, and the wooden-trellis necklace she wore. ‘You know, if you had a coping saw, I could probably get it in there and be able to cut through the wood above her head and then we can just drop it off.’

‘You are not using a saw that close to a live animal!’ Well at least the flash was back in her eyes.

‘I said “coping saw”. I wouldn’t do anything to risk hurting her, especially when we worked so hard to get her this far,’ he reassured Angela, and the listening cat. ‘Coping saws are the ones with skinny, removable blades. I thought I could — very carefully — reverse the blade and slide it alongside her neck, where there’s plenty of room, and then reconnect it to the frame and cut her free. It might rub her slightly, but the back of the blade is smooth anyway, and it’s got to be safer than knocking out an animal whose medical history we don’t know.’

‘It would be quicker, too. Jake is in surgery, so it would probably be a while before he could get to her.’ Angela nodded, still avoiding his gaze. ‘OK, let’s try it. I think I’ve got one of those saws in the box. I just thought they were called fret saws.’

‘The smaller ones are. But the larger ones are usually coping saws. Either should work for this job, unsticking Miss Kitty here.’

He got to work quickly, petting the cat and tucking his fingers alongside the space around her neck, so he could slide the blade into position and started sawing against wood. He struggled for room, and hesitated, wanting to keep his fingers between the back of the blade and the cat. Even though her neck was skinny, he didn’t have enough room.

‘Here.’ Angela rested her cool fingers on his wrist and tugged gently. ‘Let me.’ She pulled his hand out of the way, and replaced it with her own, much slimmer fingers.

‘Thanks.’ He smiled and set to work, slightly surprised at how easily they worked together. At the same time, he felt a bit sad. If they’d met under different circumstances — not that he could really picture how they might have met — he thought they could have been friends.

Oh, shit. His brain caught up with his train of thought: she didn’t like dark, small spaces and it was a “pretty new” thing. Shit. He completed the first cut, and carefully wriggled the blade along for the next, his brain still reeling. How the hell was he supposed to broach this? He wasn’t even sure if he really should, but now that his brain was screaming at him to pay attention, he wasn’t sure that he could ignore it anymore.

Angela had clearly been scared — sweat-causing, hand-shaking, stomach-churningly terrified — and she’d still clambered under the decking to rescue an animal she didn’t even know. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other times she’d done things like that. She’d spent her whole life helping animals — creatures who would never be able to tell her thank you — and she did it for free. If anything, it seemed to cost her money, judging from the amount of food and bedding Bill’s went through every day.

He’d never met anyone like her.

The judge had been right. There was Angela, doing her best and fighting every day to make the world a bit kinder for animals, and there he was — a menace to society. He’d never disliked himself so much as he did in that moment.

He really was a total fucking moron of the highest degree.