I feel bad saying Alison was boring. It sounds cruel. But is something cruel if it’s also true? Her boringness was a fact. And why do the boring ones talk the most? To be fair, I only listened to around forty per cent of what she had to say, so she may have been riveting for the other sixty. I even preferred the bitterness of Linda and her banging on about getting another thyroid test while tucking into her fourth KitKat Chunky of the day.

‘Yes, it’s terrible.’ I stared at the computer screen.

‘I just can’t believe it. Dr Williams. Dead.’

‘Yes. It’s horrible. But . . . well, people die.’ I knew it would show itself. My hands trembled over the keyboard, and I was overcome with queasiness.

‘So what do you think happened? All sounds a bit fishy to me.’

‘I think it was a terrible accident.’

I hoped she’d interpret my taut words as ‘Shut the fuck up’, yet she continued. ‘Hmm . . . I’m not so sure . . . Isn’t death weird, though? You’re just not here anymore.’

‘Don’t you think you’d better call his patients? I’m worried you’ll not catch them all in time.’

As she joined me behind the reception desk, I stood for her to sit in my chair, believing she’d finished, but no.

‘That Dr Stevens is lovely, isn’t he? I mean, I love my Kevin and wouldn’t dream of looking at another man, but he’s very handsome, isn’t he?’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘So they say it was an accident, but Dr Williams’s wife – Margaret, is it? – wasn’t she—’

The door buzzed.

‘That’s Mrs Akeem. You’d better shush now,’ I said, before escaping into the back in search of a cardboard box.

On entering Dr Williams’s room, I’d expected you to be there, but it was pitch-dark. When I switched on the light, it wasn’t only the space that was illuminated, it was death. The silence. His things. Just there. How he’d left them on the Friday.

No doubt you’d be aware of that phenomenon: when someone’s belongings become both hugely profound and utterly useless at the same time.