‘I . . . I don’t know what to say.’ And he didn’t say anything for a while. We rode in silence, until he turned to me, furious. ‘I don’t understand how anyone could leave their daughter behind like that.’ He sniffed and looked out of the window. Placed his fragile hand on top of mine. ‘Well, firstly, you know you still should never wish anyone dead. If only to protect oneself from the guilt, should they take your advice. And secondly, sometimes I really am a stupid old fuck.’

His flat smelt damp and was freezing. He’d only been in hospital ten days, but it already felt unlived in.

I put the heating and kettle on, then quickly tried to cosy up his bedroom by placing a water bottle inside the faded covers of his bed. Edward perched himself on what must once have been beautiful, but was now a shabby, sage velvet chair, grumbling about the hospital food. ‘I’m telling you . . . even if you were well when you went in, you’d be dead after that shepherd’s pie.’

‘You haven’t tasted my cooking yet. You’ll be booking yourself back in.’

It was strange that moment. Oddly comforting, looking after him.

‘So, I’ll pop in each day after work. Check on you . . . get your shopping. I can’t keep doing it, though.’

‘You’re a good soul, Constance.’

I smoothed the ripples in his blanket. ‘No . . . no, I’m really not.’

He pulled himself up to stand and felt in his trouser pocket. ‘Here, take this money and get these cut for yourself.’ He handed me some notes and two Yale keys. ‘Save me getting up to let you in if I’m having a kip.’

By now he looked wan and exhausted. After some struggle, I managed to get him into bed. Both of us relieved as he sank into the mattress.

‘Nothing like your own bed, is there?’ His eyes fought to stay open.

I picked up the handset from the side table. ‘This is dead. I’m not leaving you without a phone. Where do I charge it?’

I deciphered the faint word ‘lounge’ as he drifted off to sleep.

In the hall, I called Dale.

‘So who is this guy?’

‘I’ve told you, he’s not a guy – he’s an old man. What’s the matter with you?’ I headed towards the lounge, so Edward couldn’t hear.

‘I know he’s an old man . . . well, so you say—’

‘So I say?’

‘But surely he has family who could . . .’ His words blurred in my ear.

Because there you were.

I walked over to the window, a moth. You, my flame.