I stand up and try to locate the box that the phone came in then I remember Sonia saying something about taking it to put in the recycling when she left. I throw myself on to the bed, my head spinning with the pills and the stress of having to think like a normal person. It’s hopeless, I think to myself as the blown vinyl wallpaper on the ceiling swirls and loops in front of my eyes. I’m clutching at ridiculous straws. Sean was a bloody loner. There is no way he would have gone to any of those people for help. He never confided in people, not even me; if he had then I would have known that the house I thought we owned was a rental.

And then, through my cloudy head, a thought occurs. When Sean gave his notice to the landlords, he would have surely given reasons, perhaps even a forwarding address. I sit up and go back to the window, taking the phone and opening up the search engine.

What was the name of the company again? BH2 property, that’s it. Strange how my memory of recent events is so much better than those from further in the past. The results dance in front of my eyes like confetti. There is a raft of property listings in Bournemouth with a BH2 postcode. By the third page I give up and search again, adding ‘Rodmell, Sussex’ to the name. This time I just get a list of properties for sale in Rodmell. One last try, I think to myself as I search ‘BH2 Properties Rodmell Sussex Larkfields’. The results flash up. The first few are properties for sale. Then, halfway down the page, I see the name Larkfields and ‘House to rent’. My heart feels loose in my chest as I click on the link but there is just a holding page stating that ‘This property is no longer on the market’. I go to close the page then I see the name of the estate agent and a phone number printed at the bottom: Kingsland Farley Properties.

I stare at the number for a moment then at the clock. It’s just coming up to 5.30. They might still be open. It’s worth a try at least. My head is jumbled and I have no idea what I’m going to say but I type the number into the phone anyway and wait. After a couple of rings a young woman answers.

‘Kingsland Farley Properties. How may I help you?’

‘Oh … hello,’ I say, my voice catching in my throat. ‘Erm … my name is Maggie Allan. My house – I mean the house I was living in – was leased through your agency a few months ago and – well, I was in hospital, very ill, and – my husband –’

I’m not making any kind of sense. My head feels like a sponge and I’m finding it difficult to form the correct words.