I pause in front of the house where Jane died. Maxine has never told me much about anything. She has merely dropped whatever scraps suited her. But I need to know what she is doing for Jane. I have but one thought, or perhaps it is impulse more than thought. It is to see where Maxine goes and what she does next.

Moving, taking action – that is what will stop me from collapsing in a heap of fear and grief. I resume my run, pulling out my mobile phone after I have turned the corner. It takes me less than a minute to order a taxi.

As I run, I search for a cluster of houses that appear empty and quiet, the occupants likely to be out for the working day. I file away the best available vantage point. My intention is to pass the house I’ve earmarked without slowing, but a flash of Jane’s ruined face overcomes me and I realise that I am crying.

I dash into the front garden, concealing myself behind the hedge as I double over, gripping my knees and putting my head as close to the grass as I can while I am being sick, trying to limit the splash and area covered, silently apologising to the people who live here.

Then I hurry away to meet the taxi behind the parade of local shops, wiping my mouth on my sleeve. As the driver zooms me to a row of garages in the alley behind my flat, I see him watching me in his rear-view mirror. Silently, he passes me a handful of tissues, and I manage to thank him in a squeaky voice.

My tears have dried by the time I pull away in a black hatchback with dusty paintwork that I have deliberately not washed. It is the most inconspicuous model I could find, and I have barely driven it, except for occasionally starting the engine to keep the battery from dying.

I re-enter the neighbourhood where Jane died from the other side, passing a big field where the workhouse poor were buried long ago. Sometimes, I think the whole world is nothing but one huge burial ground, and the plague pit is everywhere.

I return to the house whose garden I was sick in twenty minutes earlier. I park in the driveway and keep my eyes on the junction that Maxine’s dark-windowed sedan will have to pass through on its way out of this neighbourhood, though it’s possible she’s left already.

All the while, I am trying to forget about the taste of vomit in my mouth, and accept the fact that I will have to live with it for the rest of what is likely to be a long day. I try to concentrate on that junction, but when I blink my eyes I see Jane’s ankle.