We lived chiefly on the top floor of the house, which in itself was equivalent to a spacious flat. We had an arrangement whereby we only ate with Mummy at weekends, if she was not working. In fact she had few weekends off and we did not see a lot of her. Mostly I prepared meals for Douglas and myself after work, chatting often with Mrs Drysdale who still came in daily, carrying them up to our living room which looked out over the garden. Douglas often worked odd hours too, covering evening meetings, and then I ate alone. Sometimes recently it had been a relief to do so.

‘You’re not here with me at all, are you?’ he said one evening as we ate mutton chops and vegetables. ‘In your head, I mean.’

I looked across at him guiltily. He was eating fast, his tie off, shirt unbuttoned at the neck, keeping his eyes on his plate as he spoke. Our clock on the mantelpiece seemed to tick too loudly.

‘I’m sorry. I’m just so worried about Livy.’

Douglas helped himself to more carrots. ‘It’s a shame, of course,’ he said with his horrible journalistic detachment which sometimes made my blood boil. ‘Terrible, those places, from what I gather. But I can’t understand why it is you’re so attached to her. Nice girl of course, but she is off-centre you know. She was even flirting with me at our wedding. I don’t see what she’s done to merit such blind devotion.’ The tone of his last words was edged with sarcasm. I chose to ignore it.

‘It’s very hard to put it into words.’ I was trying to explain it to him and to myself. ‘You never saw her as she used to be. We’ve been friends for so long – I just can’t help loving her.’ My voice became high and tearful. ‘And I can’t bear to think of her locked away in that place.’

Seeing me cry, Douglas was immediately full of concern. He pushed his chair back and came and leaned over me, an arm round my shoulders. ‘Don’t cry, my darling. I hate to see it.’ He stood stroking me with the immense gentleness he could sometimes summon, as I wept, feeling angry and helpless.

When I’d had a cry, I said, ‘You finish your meal. I’m all right.’ I polished my specs on my napkin. Sniffing, I tried to smile at him.

Douglas beamed at me across the table. ‘My darling, I do love you.’

I was gradually learning that when I came to Douglas tearful and needy was when he could best cope with me. He always did love me most in my weakness.

I went to the hospital. The walls were very high and the iron gates locked. All that could be seen of the inside was the tops of the trees. It took me some time to find the entrance, walking round the wide perimeter of the hospital grounds.

On Lodge Road I heard voices calling desperately to the unseen world. They were men’s voices. One was shouting, ‘Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Can you hear me? Hello?’ On and on. Another voice, high and strangely sexless, was insisting, ‘Tell her. Tell Doris I’m coming, Friday. Tell Doris I’m coming.’