So Mary did. She talked about her dead husband, how they met at the dancing on Lothian Road in the 1950s, he’d been in the navy, dashing in his uniform, seen the hydrogen bomb tests over Christmas Island in the Pacific but lived a long life despite that, worked at Ferranti building cockpit instrument panels for fighter planes, raised four children, one of whom was dead already. That made her pause. Jenny couldn’t bear it, she wasn’t cut out for this, didn’t have what Dorothy and Jim had, or Indy. She kept thinking about her own dad in a heap on a metal tray in the room through the back.

Mary was still talking, about her grandkids, William’s pacemaker and plastic hip, how he loved gardening and walks in the Meadows, still held her hand on the way to the shops, always a romantic. Jenny wrote it all down, although it mostly wasn’t pertinent. Mary mentioned pneumonia, pulmonary something, then she ran out of steam, couldn’t bring herself to talk about the end.

‘And where is William now?’32

A long pause while Mary composed herself. ‘He’s in St Columba’s. He passed in the night. They said it was peaceful, he wouldn’t have felt anything.’

How did they know? Maybe he spent an hour tortured by pain, unable to breathe, panicking to stay alive, grasping at his sheets in terror at the black hole coming for him.

Jenny really wasn’t cut out for this.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘We can look after him for you, don’t worry. Would you like to come in and speak to one of our funeral directors about arranging things?’

No answer.

‘We’re on Greenhill Gardens, do you know it?’

‘Yes.’

‘When would suit you?’

Jenny imagined her sitting at home, alone, nothing to do.

‘This afternoon?’ Mary said.

‘Let’s make it two o’clock.’

‘Thank you, you’ve been very helpful.’

Jenny wondered if she was being sarcastic. ‘You’re welcome.’

Mary hung up and Jenny sat looking at the phone in her grip, felt the sweat on her palm. She swallowed hard and began tapping the handset against her forehead, gently at first then harder and harder, until she could really feel the pain.

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DOROTHY