‘Thank you.’ I reach out and take a sip. As soon as the water touches my throat, I realize she’s right. I really am thirsty. I have to stop myself drinking it all in one go. I set the glass back down, still three-quarters full, and curl my hand back into my lap. I realize then that I’ve still got my coat on. There never seemed to be a suitable moment to take it off.

Marianne lowers herself back down, with a wince. ‘I’m really struggling to get my head round what you told me,’ she says. ‘I mean, this was the Sarah Jones we both knew? And you said she died alone? In her flat? And, what – the police have just closed the case?’

I nod but haven’t practised how to say any of this. ‘Yes. There wasn’t enough evidence of any crime. But … I was there when they found her, and she was my tenant. And when I realized that I knew her from before … The police case is closed and there should be an inquest, but I can’t seem to leave it. I’m not sure the coroner will really provide answers. And I just have this … real need to understand.’

I try to think of the questions I rehearsed on the Tube, but they scatter away from me. Just start, I tell myself. Just start. ‘We both worked with her,’ I continue, ‘but I was only there a short while. I … never really got to know anyone, and Sarah and I only crossed for a few weeks. But you were there so much longer, you maybe knew her better than me? Perhaps she talked to you, about herself and her life?’

Marianne takes a breath that turns into a cough. When she can speak again, she nods. ‘She came and went from that job a couple of times. I mean, she worked there on and off, dipping in and out. But I still remember her quite clearly. I suppose I felt I knew her quite well.’

‘You do? You did?’ I try again to bring my own scarce memories to mind. Her profile against the light of the window. A foot bouncing under her desk … Nothing really more than that. Almost as though she wasn’t quite a real person. Or as though it was me who was never really there.

Marianne is gazing at me, but I feel she isn’t really seeing me. She’s remembering. Going backwards in her mind.

‘You know, some people …’ she begins. ‘Some people are a little bit different.’

I wait, but she doesn’t immediately go on. She takes a sip of her own water, her fingers claw-like against the glass.

‘Different … in what way?’

‘Oh,’ says Marianne. ‘You know.’ Her mouth turns up. A smile. Her features soften with it.