‘What will you need from me?’ I manage to ask. My neck stings from the rub of scratchy wool of my scarf.

‘We are simply collecting all the details regarding the circumstances of Ms Jones’s death. Along with the police report, her medical records suggest natural causes. She – ah – had severe allergies. The state of the body though – it’s difficult to know. Our aim at the inquest is to provide a legal ruling.’

‘I understand,’ I say, while my mind races: natural causes? Allergies? Something as preventable as that? The new information lodges in my head, scattering new images, new shards of sadness, new guilt. ‘But … am I under scrutiny?’ I blurt out to this man on the phone, this man I have never met; I feel completely at his mercy.

A pause again.

‘I understand your Housing Association has admitted a degree of … negligence in relation to the case. But –’ I think I can hear him shuffling papers – ‘I understand this was not directly related to the cause of death. Only to the delay – the extreme delay – in the discovery of her body.’

‘And you want a statement from me?’

Somewhere on the floor above, I hear a security alarm sound shrilly and then cut off.

‘We would, yes. If you can let me know a correspondence address, I can send you the full details of what to provide and where to submit it to? It is quite straightforward, nothing really to worry about.’

‘All right. And the inquest itself? Will I have to attend?’

‘I believe that will be unlikely. We will of course inform you if we wish to summon you as a witness. But it’s more probable that we’ll simply include your written statement as part of the submitted evidence.’

‘But … even if you don’t call me, will I be allowed to attend?’

‘Yes, of course, Ms Arden. Inquests are public hearings. Any member of the public may attend.’

‘Thank you. Then can you send the correspondence here, to the office?’ I rattle off the address. ‘Please do that. I will help in any way that I can. I want as much as anyone to make sense of what happened.’

‘Of course,’ Mr Bernard says. ‘Thank you for your time today, Ms Arden. I’ll send you the information out right away.’

As a courtesy, he gives me his number to write down, then hangs up.

And I fumble in my bag for my inhaler, firing sharp puffs to ease my gasping chest.

Charlie is walking with Molly when he comes out of school. For a moment, I think they are even holding hands. Then she runs off towards her father, and Charlie is running across the tarmac towards me. His movements look smooth – coordinated, even. I make myself bend down and open my arms. He runs right into them, hugging me tight.

‘Did you have a good day?’ I turn my smile down towards him.