The song has flipped over and it’s another tune that’s playing now. I recognize this one too: ‘Beautiful Day’ by U2. Out of nowhere I get a sort of roiling feeling in my stomach and a prickling up the base of my spine. I hand my file of papers to the bailiff with the plain, kind face and walk right up to the door. I bend my knees so that my eyes are level with the letterbox and lift up the flap. With my cheek against the flaky wood of the door I look through the slat of a gap that has opened up.

I see all the post, a slithering pile of it silting up the floor on the other side of the door. No doubt the letters we sent are among it. The strangest smell reaches me in thin wisps from inside. I let the flap of the letterbox fall and straighten back up. My chest has gone tight. I can’t seem to speak.

I find myself thinking back to what happened with the spreadsheet I was in charge of last year and the annual inspection I was responsible for. The bailiffs are looking at me, but I can’t find a way to tell them what seems to be wrong. The older one leans down, copying what I have just done and sees for himself what’s through that narrow space. He puts a palm on the door, as though to steady himself.

He manages to say something and what he says is: ‘Holy shit.’

Chapter 2

None of us can make sense of what is going on yet. At this point, I am telling myself that, despite the radio being on, the flat is empty and the tenant must have left months and months ago for it to be in the state it is now, with all that post piled like a rubbish dump on the other side of the door. All I’m allowing myself to think at this point is that Ms Jones left the flat without telling us and without making any arrangements regarding rent, and for some completely bizarre and unknown reason she’s left the radio playing Capital FM. We’ve had this before, tenants just abandoning their flat, leaving it in a mess, rent in arrears; it’s part of the reason we take deposits.