And she can’t stay out forever either. If he stays patient, keeps following until she pulls out a key and slips it into one of these fancy front doors, he’ll soon know exactly which house is hers. She’s slowing down now, but it’s not a house that she pauses outside. As Mark looks at the building behind her, a kind of Victorian-era castle with red-brick turrets and ornate sash windows, he realises it’s a school; it must be where her kids go, and that feels like currency somehow.

Other parents are also stood outside the gates, and Mark uses their cover to get a bit closer. The sky is murkier now; the sun has sunk behind the buildings, and heavy clouds hang low. But it’s not dark yet. A mysterious white light is sneaking between the clouds, and Mark feels that’s a sign, that someone up there agrees with him. Just because the woman didn’t inject the gear into Jon’s arm, doesn’t mean she’s not accountable for his death. If she’d been a bit kinder, shown some level of empathy rather than treating him worse than an animal, Jon wouldn’t have got hammered, and he’d still be alive today.

Each led by a different teacher, groups of children start appearing at the gate, and one by one, they get distributed out amongst the adults. But the woman he’s watching remains childless. She just leans against the railings with a fake smile on her face, greeting other mums as they come and go, like the queen holding court. He wants to know her name – anything that might prove useful – but the mums who stop call her darling, or honey, or love.

Eventually a tall woman with a mane of blonde hair and crows’ feet by her eyes stays for longer than the others. She doesn’t stop jabbering – even spills that the woman’s name is Beth – but there’s a tension between them. After a while, the blonde gives up and disappears into the crowd of lookalikes, leaving the woman – Beth – staring after her, a blank expression on her perfectly designed face.