‘Oh hi!’ I breezed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to pop in on him yet again, disturbing him and his new girlfriend. ‘I was literally just passing,’ I kept the smile going. ‘So I thought I’d check up on the heating.’ This was going to be so hard with Tilly here. Might have to be abandoned.

‘Oh. Right.’ He still looked mighty surprised. ‘Well, no, it’s fine. Seems to be working well.’

‘No ticking?’ I made a stupid ticking noise and moved my finger like the noisy second hand on the Countdown clock.

‘I’ve got used to it.’

He was gazing at me, bemused. Tilly was too, although when she realized I was embarrassed, she had the perfect manners to turn back to her curry sauce. She gave it a stir.

‘Good, good,’ I breathed as if that really was the most tremendous relief.

‘Tell you what,’ Tilly said suddenly, ‘there isn’t even dried coriander in the larder, so I’m going to pop to Waitrose.’ She grabbed her purse on the island, her manners, her poise, her confidence in the security of her own position and her sympathy for the awkwardness of mine, not deserting her for one second. In the twinkling of an eye, with another radiant smile and then the shrugging on of a gorgeous little navy jacket, she was gone.

I felt a huge menopausal blush surge up my neck as I tottered, unasked, to a kitchen stool. I perched. Stared at the familiar slate tiles.

Josh frowned and moved around the island to perch on the other one. There was a lengthy pause. Then he spoke. ‘Suppose you tell me what this is all about?’

I took a deep breath. Was about to tell the most gigantic lie, but then made it a slightly smaller one. I looked up.

‘I have a friend,’ I said carefully, ‘who thinks she might have killed her husband.’

He stared at me. ‘Right.’

‘She doesn’t know where to turn. Because obviously she can’t go to the police, for fear of what the – you know – consequences might be. But on the other hand, she can’t really live with herself. No, that’s not quite true. She can, some of the time. Some of the time she’s fine. But she’s conscious, the rest of the time, of the sword of Damocles potentially about to fall. She’s wondering, since she didn’t actually lay a finger on her husband, but maybe wilfully manslaughtered him, whether in fact she’d get off anyway, and it would be better to ’fess up and not live with the fear. She doesn’t know.’

‘I see.’ He was silent. Watching me.