‘Yes, yes, of course. Sorry, forgetting my manners.’ He ushered me in and closed the front door behind me.

Again, a moment of indecision. Then, ‘Can I offer you a tea or coffee?’

‘Oh, thank you. A coffee’d be lovely.’

‘Would you mind coming through to the kitchen while I make it? I’d show you into the sitting room but it’s a bit of a glory hole.’

From what I could gather of the bungalow’s layout, the living room and kitchen were to the right of the hall. To the left presumably there were two bedrooms and a bathroom.

The kitchen was chaotic too, but again it was organized chaos. No smell here either, no rotting food. Yes, a lot of instant meal cartons, but all stacked up in an orderly fashion. And no unwashed crockery in the sink. Either Edward had an intrinsic sense of tidiness or he had someone who came in to help him keep the right side of total dysfunction.

The kettle he filled and the mugs he brought down from a cupboard were clean. ‘Sorry, it’s instant. Is that OK?’

‘Fine.’

‘Milk or sugar?’

‘Dash of milk, please.’

He made the drinks, putting two heaped teaspoons of sugar into his own. As he passed my mug across, he said, ‘Right, brace yourself for the worst.’ And he led the way back into the hall and opened the door of the sitting room.

Yes, again it was a mess, but nothing that I couldn’t have sorted out in a couple of hours with some cardboard boxes and binbags. Not a hoarder’s accumulation of stuff, more just evidence of laziness, and of the fact that this was the home of a book-lover. They were scattered all over the place. Also, magazines and newspapers left open, a few discarded garments, shoes shuffled off on to the floor while watching television. Nothing that would decompose. Not even any encrusted coffee cups on the mantelpiece.

I looked around the room and shrugged. ‘This isn’t bad,’ I said. ‘I don’t think you have a big problem, Mr Finch.’

‘Oh, please call me Edward.’

‘Very well, Edward,’

‘My friends call me Eddie.’

‘Well, let’s stick with Edward, for the time being, shall we?’ I wasn’t being standoffish; I just like keeping things professional.

‘Very well.’

He looked slightly hurt, so I said, ‘And you call me Ellen.’

‘Right.’ That seemed to cheer him.

‘As I say, I don’t really see a major hoarding problem here. Just think you need to get into the habit of putting things away when you’ve finished with them.’

‘Hm.’ He nodded thoughtfully and took a sip from his coffee. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘you haven’t seen the bedrooms yet.’

‘No, that’s true. I haven’t.’

He led me across the hall to where I’d assumed the sleeping quarters would be. Spare bedroom facing the front with a door through to the bathroom, from which another door led back to the master bedroom (if you can actually have a ‘master bedroom’ in a bungalow). That had a second door opening on to the hall.