Later on, when I get home, I rummage around in my bag to get my keys out, and notice Dorothy’s light is off; it’s odd, as she usually leaves it on throughout the night. It’s part of my routine to look up at Dorothy’s light and know she is there. It’s a comfort. I hope she is OK. The next day, when I wake up and draw my curtains, Dorothy’s light is still off. I make a coffee, add sugar, and sit at my kitchen table, scrolling through the Guardian app. I tap the table nervously. Something doesn’t feel right – perhaps it’s that female intuition again. I pull on some jeans, use some deodorant, spray some dry shampoo in my hair and throw on a big jumper. I knock on Dorothy’s door. No answer. I try peering through the letterbox. The door opens, and a woman with a bob and a hi-vis jacket stands there, probably wondering why I’m crouching down weirdly.

‘Hi, can I help?’ Hi-Vis Woman says.

‘Hi I’m Olive, Dorothy’s neighbour … and friend. Is she in?’

‘Oh. I’m sorry. Haven’t you heard?’

‘No?’

‘Dorothy was found unconscious yesterday. Poor lady. We heard this morning that she died in hospital overnight. The postman noticed her lights were off – which was unusual – so he flagged it, thank goodness.’

‘No.’ I feel a lump forming in my throat. ‘Was anyone with her?’

‘Her friend Rupert was there; she died very peacefully.’

‘Oh my god. Poor Dorothy.’

‘I’ve been told to pass on that Rupert is planning the funeral. Do you know Rupert?’

‘No, I don’t. How can I contact him?’ I ask. She passes me a piece of paper with Rupert’s number on. Sadness overcomes me and I feel physically sick.

Olive: Hi Rupert, this is Olive. Dorothy’s neighbour? I’m so sorry to hear the news. It’s such an awful shock. I’d love to attend Dorothy’s funeral. Do you know the details? O x

Rupert: Hi Olive. It is in three weeks’ time, St Martin’s Crematorium. I’m sure Dorothy would love that.

His words hit me hard, like a physical blow to the stomach. It sounds as if Dorothy is still here. I didn’t know my neighbour for very long but I felt close to her. Like we understood one another. She softened my heart again after my break-up with Jacob. She helped me to heal.

33

‘I hope your girls are starting to like me,’ I say.

Marcus and I are in Sainsbury’s, looking for some inspiration on what to cook. We go past the fruit and veg and I toss some lemons into the basket.

‘Stop fishing for compliments,’ Marcus says.

‘I’m not! I wanna know,’ I say.

‘Of course they do. They’re not judgemental girls. I’m proud of that.’

‘So they won’t judge my cooking next week then?’

‘Well, I can’t promise that,’ he laughs.

‘I mean it’s fajitas. How wrong can it go?’

‘But seriously. They are old enough now to accept meeting someone outside of the three of us.’