I wrap the towel around my hips and walk along the corridor, taking in the bookshelves crammed with books. The mix of French literary fiction and pulp is disconcerting until I remember I left the French books here long ago and Nina always loved cheap and easy thrillers. I also remember now, randomly, that she smelled of roses. I wonder if she’s still with Seb. The bathroom door has been left ajar as an invitation. I go in and stare at the polished bath. It’s been so long since I’ve been in one. I reach across to the taps but hesitate. It feels like an intrusion, but in his house, his clothes, it also feels like the least I can do. A few minutes later I am lying in the water and watching the dirt as it runs off my body and sinks to the bottom. I find a nail brush and scrub away what I can without losing my mind. Then the hair. Not until I soak it do I become aware of how long it is. Finally, I scrub my face until it feels as if it is pink again. When I drain the bath I’m shocked by the grime lining the bottom.

When I walk out I catch sight of someone in the mirror. Someone from a nightmare. Of course, it’s me, but the face staring back at me is running with blood. I realise with a dull ache that I have scrubbed away my stitches. I sigh and clamp the towel to my face until I find plasters with cartoon pigs on them. So he has children? I manage to staunch the flow with three of them overlaid one across the other and take a last look in the mirror. I look clean but faintly ridiculous.

‘Oh. You found the plasters,’ he says with a smile when I walk into the kitchen. They tingle a little on my forehead. ‘Nieces. There are eggs and bacon there.’ He points to a covered plate. ‘And fresh coffee in the pot.’ He is wearing a grey suit with a Prince of Wales check, a pale blue shirt and a crimson tie with tiny elephant motifs on it. He takes me in, dressed in his checked shirt and red trousers, and smiles. Then he stands and gathers his keys from the table. The smell of bacon turns my stomach on and off again. But I need to eat.

‘Thanks,’ I say, sitting down. He looks at me as if he is about to say something but changes his mind.

‘Listen, I have to go to work,’ he says, looking at his watch. It’s a Rolex Milgauss. I had one once – because it was named after the mathematician.