‘Oh, God,’ he says, and his voice begins to break. ‘But I can drive down now? I’ll get there before she—’

‘I’m really sorry,’ I say again, cruelly forging ahead. ‘They asked me to come up and see her, and I’m so sorry to tell you that around fifteen minutes ago Mary died.’

I didn’t think phone receivers could bleed, but in that moment I realise I’m wrong. Never have I felt someone else’s pain so acutely without being able to see them. His breathing is ragged, and his words are punctuated by sobs that go straight to my heart.

‘No, no, no, no, no,’ he repeats. ‘No. Please, no.’ He’s in agony. The man is in complete, soul-destroying, bone-crushing agony. I’m horrified to feel my throat closing over and tears welling up in my eyes.

‘I’m really sorry I had to tell you this,’ I say, my voice hoarse.

‘Me too,’ he says, and we both manage a bit of a laugh before he collapses into loud sobs again. ‘Where does she go now? Should I drive in?’

‘No, no,’ I say awkwardly. ‘The body—I mean Mary—will be taken to the mortuary and you’ll be able to see her in the morning.’

‘The mortuary?’ He sounds panicked. ‘What happens there? Is she on a bed?’

‘Well, um …’ I wonder how to tell him that Mary’s body will be put on a steel slab which is then pushed into a freezer.

Slab. Trolley. This was no good. No one wants to be told that the love of their life will be lying on a slab.

‘It’s sort of like a big chest of drawers,’ I say finally.

‘Mary’s going into a drawer?’

‘Well, no, not a drawer,’ I reassure him quickly. ‘It’s, ah, more like a bed, but it’s, ah …’ I really don’t want to say fridge. ‘Ah, it’s in a sort of cooling facility,’ I settle on.

By this point Mr Davies is sobbing again.

‘Keith, is someone there with you?’ I ask.

He isn’t coherent, having completely surrendered to his emotions, and another voice comes onto the phone. Keith and Mary’s daughter is as upset as her father but she keeps it together, at least for the phone call. She thanks me, and I tell her, against all my medical instincts, to go and get a bottle of whisky.

‘We’re on the reds,’ she says, and the Australian vernacular makes me smile.

‘I’ll say a prayer for your mum,’ I say, and there’s a pause. It’s weird, in the middle of all this science, hospitals, slabs, medicine—in the end, it’s the most comforting thing I can think of to do and say.

‘Thank you. That means a lot.’

‘She went peacefully,’ I say truthfully. ‘She really just sort of slipped away, the nurses said.’