‘And when,’ I went on, ‘did you put her clothes all over the bedroom?’

‘That’s relatively recent,’ he said. ‘The last couple of months, I suppose. It was the first time I’d been in there since … since …’

‘But it was quite clean,’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘When you showed me the room on Monday, yes, it was covered with clothes. But it wasn’t as dusty or cobwebby as a space would be if it hadn’t been entered for eight months.’

‘No.’

‘Did you sweep it up, hoover it?’

‘No.’

‘Who did then?’

‘Cara.’

‘Ah. Cara did actually ring me, after I’d come here on Monday.’

‘I know. She told me.’

‘She told me that all three of you, Pauline as well, taught at the same school.’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘Cara clearly helps you a lot.’

‘You could call it helping,’ he said rather petulantly. ‘You could call it interfering, not minding her own business.’

I didn’t comment. I thought Edward Finch was being ungrateful to someone who clearly had his welfare at heart, but I wasn’t about to take sides in what was probably a long-running disagreement.

‘What you’re experiencing, Edward,’ I said gently, ‘is something that is quite a common reaction in cases of bereavement. Lots of people find it exceedingly difficult to clear up the dead person’s belongings. Doing that has such an air of finality about it. It can be like finally admitting to yourself that they’re really never coming back. Was that how it felt to you?’

‘Maybe. A bit,’ he mumbled.

‘And you’ve only tried clearing up Pauline’s stuff on your own?’

‘How else should I do it?’ he almost snapped.

‘With someone else to help you. I thought Cara might have—’

‘Cara did suggest that she should help me. Typical, yet again muscling in on our lives.’

The use of ‘our’ was interesting. And, again, very common. Many of the bereaved find it takes a long time to take on board that their plural lives have become singular. Even though it’s more than eight years since Oliver died, I still sometimes find myself slipping into the ‘we’ usage.

‘Well, look, Edward, what I’m suggesting is that I should go to the bedroom with you and see if the two of us can impose some order on the chaos. Or would you regard that as me “muscling in”?’

‘No. We could try.’

‘We’ll take it at your pace. I’m not going to rush you into doing anything you don’t want to do.’

‘Right. Thank you.’ He swallowed down the last of his coffee. ‘I’m prepared to give it a go.’ He rose to his feet. ‘So, what – we put everything back in the wardrobe and the drawers?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry, Edward. That’d just be kicking the can further down the road.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Pauline’s clothes will still be in the bedroom. It’d be just as if you’d never even started to move them.’

‘So … where are you suggesting we put them? This bungalow doesn’t have a cellar or an attic. Or a garage, come to that. And the garden shed would be far too damp. The clothes’d get ruined in there.’