After work, to maintain my pact with God, I’d either go home immediately or if I stopped for a fag, I’d make myself visible. Say goodbye to you in a manner so casual it was as if you worked on the checkout at Costcutter. On those occasions, to avoid temptation, I’d wait until you were out of sight before setting off. Always walking through the cemetery, no matter how dark it had become, even if there was thunder and lightning.

I lived like that for a month. The season changed. It was cold and harsh. Darkness came earlier each day and lightness arrived later each morning. But I was proud of myself. I’d broken the spell. Your spell. Like Johnny Cash, I walked the line.

And I’d like to think it would have remained that way. If that Tuesday, when having my after-work cigarette next to the steps, I hadn’t answered a call from a withheld number.

‘Is that Constance …

‘Is that Constance?’

‘Yes . . . hello. Speaking.’

‘Hello, Constance. This is . . . It’s your father.’

My vision hazed, legs weakened. The sound of a finger circling the rim of a crystal glass rang in my ears as I slid down the wall, ending with a jolt on the brutal pavement.

‘Constance? Constance . . . are you there?’

‘Dad . . . I . . . I can’t . . .’ A laugh morphed into tears. My joy too much to articulate. I hugged my knees against my chest. ‘Daddy . . . I knew you’d find me.’

‘Constance? Constance, can you hear me?’

‘Yes . . . sorry. I just . . . Yes, I can hear.’

Voices mumbled in the background. He told someone to leave him in peace.

‘Dad, are you there? So, you . . . you got my card? I can’t believe it . . . Where are you? Are you—’

‘Constance . . . sorry, Constance,’ he whispered. ‘This is Edward.’

I’m uncertain I remained conscious. I heard his words, but they were abstract, meaningless.

‘I’m in hospital, and they won’t let me out unless someone is looking after me . . . and I found your number in my trousers and so I told them I’d call my daughter . . . and . . . I wondered if you could be so kind as to just go along with it. Only to get me out of here. Then you can leave me be. I’ll be fine once I’m home . . . Constance? Constance? Can you hear me? I’m at St Mary’s, Lewis Lloyd ward . . .’

I dropped my hand. The faint call of ‘Constance? Constance?’ skidded across the ground. After pulling myself up to a standing position, I stumbled to pick up the phone. When I returned to the wall, I pressed my cheek against the freezing brick, my mouth forming a silent scream.

‘Are you there? Constance?’

I lifted the handset to my ear. ‘I hope you die in there, you stupid old fuck.’