‘You could try the Public Record Office, I suppose. If you really want to know.’

There was nothing to be gained from this. Audrey didn’t want to tell me about Ted and I wasn’t going to be able to cajole or disarm her. But I couldn’t stop myself from asking one more question. ‘Did you know my mother and father before she died?’

‘No,’ Audrey said. Her wide mouth puckered, the vertical creases round it deepening as she bit off the monosyllable.

‘But you said …’

‘I don’t remember dates. And I don’t remember a whole lot of other things, nowadays. Do you know how old I am?’

The question was delivered with all the go-on, be-amazed quavering bravura of a pub granny. But in spite of the livestock, and the detritus of her house, and the impression she gave of being an eccentric recluse, I didn’t believe that Audrey was even briefly forgetful, let alone senile. She was too cunning, and too careful, and the anger I glimpsed in her was much too fresh.

‘No,’ I said.

‘And I’m not going to tell you,’ she wound up triumphantly. The cat bounded off her lap and headed for one of the rancid bowls lined up by the back door.

I picked up my bag and stood up. ‘All right,’ I conceded. ‘Thank you for the chat, anyway.’

‘And thank you for the vegetables. From Suffolk.’

Neither of us mentioned the photograph.

‘I’d better go. I’ve got things to do at home. Jack’s been in France and he’s coming back the day after tomorrow.’

‘That’s right,’ Audrey agreed.

I was on my way down the dingy hall towards the brightness of Turnmill Street before the oddness of this properly struck me. I let myself out and closed the peeling green door behind me.

That’s right, she had agreed in a placid voice as if she were the one who knew about Jack’s movements and I the one who was asking for confirmation.

I walked past the line of shiny cars to where I had parked mine, my mind running on the implications of this. I thought about it as I drove and by the time I reached home my suspicion was hardening into a near certainty.

‘What’s happening, Mum?’ Lola asked when she called me that night. I tucked the handset under my chin and talked as I unloaded the dishwasher. We usually spoke to each other every two or three days and she had already heard about Angela and my days in Suffolk.

‘Let’s think. Work’s pretty busy, we’ve had a big job on for Quintin Farrelly. I’m doing a bit of cleaning up in the house before Jack gets back. I called in to see Audrey and took her a picture of Ted.’ Life was going on as I usually lived it, more or less.