The first thing I did was wipe that suicide note from Beth’s computer. Then I cleared her browser history. Later I would destroy the computer, replace it with another, but I didn’t have time for that then. I got in my car and drove over to Beaufield Court. And it was as I reached the house that I realized I would have to make a performance of it. I would have to go through the motions of discovery and shock and alerting the authorities, all the while concealing the fact that I knew.

‘I knocked on the door for several minutes, before taking the key from under the flowerpot and letting myself in, calling out her name lest some neighbour happened to walk past, making it all look … normal. She was upstairs, in her bed, lying there, perfectly peaceful. But the air in that room – my God. A thick, heavy pall, like it hadn’t been aired in weeks. I could hardly breathe.’

There was a bottle of whiskey by the bed – Bushmills, Melissa’s favourite – and an empty glass, along with some pill bottles – sleeping tablets, mainly. They were almost empty. And propped up by the bottle was that letter.

‘I knew I couldn’t leave it there. I couldn’t risk it. Something about the wording was so clumsy, and I was in a panic, thinking of Beth’s fingerprints on the letter, how would we explain it?’

I took the note and stuffed it in my bag, and then I looked around the house quickly, searching for any evidence of Beth, anything that might incriminate her.

‘But that note still bothered me. Or rather the absence of a note. And then I remembered Melissa’s list of instructions – she had shown it to me once. When she was first diagnosed and she became maudlin and depressed, she got it into her head that she needed a document detailing all the practicalities concerning household bills, her finances, that kind of thing. Don’t you remember her telling us about it? How it would be there in the drawer of her little desk if we ever needed it?’

But Mark is staring at me, baffled, like he’s gone beyond memory to a darker place, a frightening reality. He’s looking at me like he barely knows me any more. My heart clenches and I force myself to continue, my voice weaker now.

‘It was right there in the desk, just like she said it would be. And I thought: That’s the solution. Something simple and straightforward. That letter Beth had written – it had jarred because it was too much; Melissa would never have been so forthcoming, never explained her feelings. It made more sense to have something terse, enigmatic.’

I’m sorry about everything. Mx

So easily done. I hardly had to think about it. The work of a moment.