They are both quite a bit bigger than me. The thick-set, bald one I recognize. His partner looks younger and has a plain, kind face. Not for the first time I wonder how they ended up in this job. And how it feels to do this kind of work, day in, day out.

I introduce myself – I’m Jennifer Arden – and shake hands with them both. I’m careful to make good eye contact, use a firm grip, something I’ve perfected, over time.

‘Flat sixteen is right here,’ I say as we head into the building proper. My speech is perfectly articulated, every word pronounced properly. There are three staircases in the whole block: A, B and C, with fifteen flats off each. Except here, in staircase B, there’s a funny extra flat, tucked away on the ground floor, number sixteen. The door to it is sort of hidden under the stairs so you could quite easily miss it.

The bailiff with the kind face takes a deep breath and knocks hard on the door. ‘Ms Jones? Ms Jones, we are here about your unpaid rent.’

Before I started in this job, I used to picture bailiffs bashing in people’s doors and dragging furniture out into the street. Of course, it isn’t like that. We’ve sent this tenant a letter to let her know we’re coming. All we want today is to ensure Ms Jones knows about her debts. That’s why I’m here. Hopefully, I can agree a payment plan with her, something to bring her out of this mess.

The bailiff knocks again, thump thump.

I think I can make out voices coming from inside, but as I lean closer I hear someone saying Capital FM!, and I realize it’s just the radio playing. A song comes on a moment later: ‘Everywhere’ by Fleetwood Mac. If the radio is on though, I can be pretty sure she’s in there. We’ll keep knocking and hope that eventually she will come to the door, even if she doesn’t open it. She has a right not to open it to us, but I really hope we can speak to her today. That way I have a chance to help. We can let things go for a while – the longest I can remember was four months – but we can’t just let it go on for ever. Ms Jones is already three months behind. We’ve sent half a dozen letters, but she didn’t reply to any of them, so now it’s come to this. If we can’t arrange some kind of payment schedule today, the next step is an eviction notice and I would really hate it to come to that.

‘Ms Jones?’ the bailiff calls again.