The gate was closed. John went to get out of the car, but I stopped him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it.’ I jumped out into the light drizzle, which was lit up by the car’s headlights, but before I could get to the gate an alarming figure suddenly lurched into view beyond it. It was out of the direct line of the headlights, so all I could see was something big, black, burly and hairy, which resolved itself into the figure of a man in a ripe-smelling parka with the hood up, in the shadows of which I could see copious amounts of facial foliage as well as two bright eyes squinting in the light.

‘Who the hell are you?’ grunted this apparition. ‘One of John’s girls I suppose.’ He gestured towards the car and bellowed in its direction, ‘Don’t you ever call first?’

‘I’m Ermine,’ I said, deciding to ignore his opening sally.

He did not reciprocate with his name. Instead he gave me a look of the deepest contempt, wrenched open the gate and stumped back towards the house as the rain started to get up.

‘Shut the gate behind you!’ he roared back at me, his shoulders hunched up against the flying rain. I pulled my cardigan tightly around me and gestured impatiently to John to drive on. He didn’t bother to wait for me beyond the gate, the house was only a few yards up the drive. I hurriedly shut the gate and splashed up the muddy drive, thinking that I would ruin my shoes.

When I got to the house, John was already in the middle of unloading the bags. The front door was open. ‘Go on in,’ he said. ‘Get out of this wet.’

I lingered uncomfortably, not wanting to show that I was nervous of going into the house to confront the hulking hairy creature who had opened the gate, without John to act as a bulwark.

‘Go on,’ he said, looking up surprised, in the midst of heaving my bag out of the trunk. ‘What’s the matter?’

I felt foolish. Light dawned and he grinned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared of Charlie!’

‘No,’ I said unconvincingly. ‘I just – ’

‘Get in there! He won’t bite you. He’s probably skulking in his study anyway. He hates company.’

I had no choice but to go meekly into the house, having lingered as long as I could on the step, scraping my shoes thoroughly on the bristly, worn doormat.

Inside, the hall was lit by a very dim lightbulb that seemed, if possible, to be casting darkness, rather than light. In the gloom I could make out muddy black and white floor-tiles, a big old-fashioned coatrack-cum-umbrella stand, a jumble of wellingtons and stacks of old newspapers on the floor. I took a hesitant step forward and bumped into something at knee height that panted and heaved, slavered a wet tongue around my hand and ran off down the hall, its nails clacking on the bare tiles.

Trying not to scream, I followed the dog down the hall and poked my head round the door that it had disappeared behind. This room was the kitchen, slightly less dimly lit but more cavernous. The dog, a long-haired, copper-coloured mongrel, was lying on the floor by the range, the tip of its tail beating softly on the quarry tiles. His owner was standing by the range, pouring hot water into a mug. An open jar of instant coffee stood on the kitchen table, which also appeared to hold the remains of that day’s breakfast, lunch and supper. Charlie had shed his parka and was now revealed in a shabby jumper that looked as if it had been knitted out of bushes, with holes in both elbows and matching shapeless trousers that defied description. At one end two big toes with grimy nails poked out of the holes in his socks, at the other, a headful of shaggy brownish hair, merged imperceptibly into glowering eyebrows and a tangled beard.

I suppressed a shudder. ‘Oh, I’d rather have tea, if you have any?’

He half-turned to look at me and two bright blue eyes glittered hostilely in the gloom. ‘Tea? Oh.’

He finished making the coffee, banged it down in the table and made a great show of looking round for another mug. There was none on the shelf. Eventually he fished one out of the grey water in the washing-up bowl and started to rinse it out under the cold tap. In the interests of hygiene, I took the cup out of his hand and started to wash it up myself.

By the time John came in I had succeeded in hunting down a box of teabags, an open bag of sugar, which already had an encrusted teaspoon stuck into it, and a half-full bottle of milk, which when sniffed gingerly, proved not to be off.

‘Where’s Chas?’ said John, coming over to the range and holding his hands out over it. ‘Brr!’ He shook himself and stretched as the warmth started to penetrate. ‘Ah, that’s better. Any tea for me, babe?’

He took his hipflask out of his pocket and added a slug of whiskey to it.

‘I’ve put our things upstairs. Where’s that brother of mine now?’ He went striding out of the room.

I finished my tea and went up to find our room, thinking that a hot bath would be just what the doctor ordered. The stairs were plunged in darkness and I couldn’t find the switch for the upstairs hall light, but there were a couple of lit doorways, so I blundered in the direction of the nearest and nudged it open.

To my horror Charlie was inside, taking off his shirt. He had just pulled it off over his head as I came in and I got a flash of his bare torso, compact and surprisingly muscled, and a chest whorled with brownish hair. He wasn’t as tall as John, but he looked a lot fitter. Fortunately he still had on the disgraceful trousers.

He turned around as the door opened and our eyes met, his in a hideous glare and mine, I can only surmise, rather like those of a rabbit caught in the headlights.

‘Sorry!’ I said automatically, appalled at how jolly hockeysticks my voice sounded. He said not a word, but reaching out with one naked arm, slammed the door shut in my face, leaving me blinking in the pitch-dark of the hall.