Layla Birch’s solo is up next. Si added it in at my request, and now he can’t understand how it was never there in the first place. In his words, ‘It’d be like Cats without “Memory”.’ Layla’s long hair is swept up into a glorious bun, sparkling with glitter spray, and her elegant red dress gives her a classy maturity. It’s been a month since we had our chat outside the drama hall. I’ve watched her take small, brave steps towards this moment. Sometimes she sang beautifully in rehearsals, then sometimes she’d have a wobble, convinced she couldn’t do it. I was always convinced she could, though, and told her so, spending break times working on her song and never once doodling on my costume notes.

Now, she’s captivating: every member of the audience is spellbound and everybody backstage is silent, peeking through the curtains, the only part of the show they desperately need to see one more time. I know she’s thinking about her mum. And I know her mum is here, too. There’s no way that the woman who created this young girl has just disappeared into nothing. She’s got to be somewhere, if only through her daughter.

As she sings, my own thoughts drift back to Jack. He lingers on. I wonder if he ever won’t. Trish had never got back to me with a suitable date. I sent one follow-up message – you know, checking in – and when I got no reply from that, I went upstairs to see my neighbour, Neil.

‘Giles and Ingrid mentioned you’re going away for a while?’ I’d asked as he whipped up a cappuccino for us both. ‘For work.’

‘When am I not going away for a while?’ he sighed.

‘Where to this time?’

‘Cape Town.’

‘Wow. Lucky you.’

‘No complaints.’

I’d told him about the bulging carrier bags and two cases filled with Jack’s things, still sitting in a pile beside the bookshelf in the hall. Neil had placed his hand on my shoulder mid-waffle, around when I was talking about how seeing the bags each morning churned my stomach so much that I couldn’t face breakfast, and I’d shut up.

‘Shall we go and get the bags now?’ he’d asked.

‘Now? But you’re not leaving ’til Sunday.’

‘I have a guest bedroom. And no guest.’