I stood and relit the candle, but as the air left my lips, extinguishing the flame, I heard Edward say, ‘You shouldn’t do that – it’s bad luck.’

The rest of the day flew by.

At nearly five Linda called everyone into the kitchen for my birthday fodder. Except Dr Short, who was still at home looking after his daughter, the Ratcheds, who’d already left, and Dr Franco, who was with a client. I feigned exuberance, but as well as being all caked out, I was preoccupied by our pending rendezvous.

Alison made the teas, while you and Dr Harris hovered awkwardly in the servants’ quarters.

‘We need to do this room up, don’t we?’ said Harris, after spending a whole five minutes with the strip lights and shabby chairs.

After another ten minutes of phoney frivolity and comments about how I was ‘still a baby’ and that they’d ‘kill to be twenty-seven’, Linda presented me with a card that everyone had signed. I scanned the messages and thanked you all earnestly. Although, it was only yours I really cared about. Happy birthday to the best coffee-maker in West London. Love, Dr Stevens x

Love.

I wish I could end it there.

The rest is difficult for me to write. I’m sorry. But I need to get it out, you understand. Tragedy by tragedy.

As the mini-celebrations wound down, I noticed Dr Franco’s client leaving so took him up some cake. He was all ready to head off but still happy to accept the offering.

‘Oh, Battenberg, my favourite. How very kind. And happy birthday.’ He bit into the sponge, then with a full mouth said, ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Much better . . . thank you.’ And I realized it was the first time I’d said such a thing in so long without it being a lie.

‘Well, that pleases me even more than this cake.’

By this time I was almost bursting with anticipation. I headed to the toilet to reapply my lipstick, which I also dotted slightly on my cheeks. Not that I needed to: they were already flushed pink. You were right. I was different to the day before. I looked so much like her. When she was well and happy. Or maybe it was her who stared back at me. Visiting.

‘Happy birthday,’ I whispered to my reflection. Imagining it was her saying it.

You entered reception, turning up the collar of your coat, as I was buttoning mine. When Linda bent down to collect her bag, you mouthed that you had the car and for me to meet you in the car park.

‘Goodbye, Dr Stevens. See you tomorrow,’ I said.

Alison and Linda echoed my words as you left. We followed on. But once outside, I hung back and lit a fag.

‘Constance, that should be your birthday resolution,’ said Alison.