‘Drink driving? Did he have a problem that you weren’t aware of, you know, because let’s face it, you hardly knew the lad, did you?’

‘Mum!’

‘Or was he ill? Oh, God. Had he been ill this whole time and not told you?’

‘Mum, it was an accident. Simple as that.’

‘Oh, love. Oh, Chloe love. My heart breaks for you, it does. It really does.’ She sounds like she’s in pain, her voice thin, sliding along ice. ‘Just devastating, isn’t it? His poor mother, oh she must be in pieces. And you thought this was it, didn’t you? Our Kit said as much, said you thought you’d found The One. And after all these years, there’s me thinking you never believed in The One—’

‘Mum, please don’t cry.’

‘We never even met him, Chloe.’

‘I know.’

‘Oh, my God, who will you bring to our Kit’s wedding now? You can’t come on your own.’

‘Yeah. God forbid.’

‘I mean, you’re thirty-six, Chloe. I thought you’d—’

‘Mum, I know what you thought.’

‘Don’t snap at me, love. I’m very upset for you, I am. I really am.’

‘I’m gonna be fine,’ I say, convincingly, although not at all convinced.

She sighs loudly down the phone. I come to the end of the residential street and walk along the main road, passing a pub, a pharmacy, a florist, another pub. She’s still sighing, I think; a fire engine’s siren is drowning her out.

Once it passes, I realise she’s talking to someone, not me, relaying this new information about Jack in a loud whisper, as if I can’t hear her.

‘Is Dad home from work?’ I ask.

‘What’s that, Chloe love?’

‘I can hear you talking to Dad.’

‘Oh, no. Your dad’s still out; had to take someone all the way to Manchester today. Carol’s here. Her daughter’s pregnant again, you know. What’s that, Carol? Oh, a girl? She’s having a girl, is she? Ah, one of each. Oh, isn’t that just perfect. I bet you’re over the moon, Carol. Did you hear that, Chloe?’

‘That’s nice, Mum.’

‘Yeah. It’s nice to hear nice things at a time like this …’

I can picture her sitting on the stairs, catching a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and using her fingertips to create a temporary facelift.

‘You sure you’re alright, Mum?’

‘I’m fine, love. I am. I just thank God that you barely knew the lad. Thank. God. He really does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t He?’

‘This wasn’t an act of God, Mum.’