More to the point: how was I going to keep up the pretence that I’d trained as a nurse with Susan? I didn’t know anything about nursing. Or, indeed, about Susan.

And even more to the point: how was I going to meet Evan again anyway? We were total strangers. We’d spoken for maybe three minutes. He’d hugged me but then there had been a lot of hugging going on—it was a wake, for Christ’s sake. How on earth would I find an excuse to see him again? Pretend I worked for British Gas and arrive to read his meter?

Stupid idea.

You see, I’d already had a better one.

I’d left my raincoat at his house.

Three

The next morning I sat down and Googled ‘veterinary surgeries Hendon’. Propped on my desk was a framed photograph of Max and Lucy when they were young. They hung upside down on a climbing frame, like bats, but I didn’t let their darling faces stop me.

I found the surgery, phoned it and finally got through to Mr Edwardes. After a moment’s hesitation—had he forgotten me?—he recovered and suggested I came round one evening after work.

‘I haven’t seen your raincoat but I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.’

He sounded perfectly cordial. I said I’d drop by on Friday.

My father used to say, ‘Don’t expect too much and you’ll never be disappointed.’ This seemed a somewhat downbeat philosophy to pass on to a child, but like many depressives he got a grim satisfaction from his own negativity—indeed, joked about it. I once told him how, when I’d been swimming in a lake, a tern had flown above me, dipping and diving into the water, to which he’d replied, ‘The only tern I know is a turn for the worse.’

Now, however, his words steadied my nerves. I had no expectations. I was simply going to collect a raincoat. I didn’t bother to smarten myself up, and drove to Hendon with a metaphorical shrug of the shoulders.

There were only twelve dwellings in the cul-de-sac but for a moment I couldn’t recognise which one belonged to Evan. I finally found the right house, but it seemed oddly exposed.

‘I’ve had the conifers cut down.’ Evan ushered me in. ‘The leylandii. Susan always hated them and I wanted to let the sunlight into the bedroom as she was there all day, but of course it’s too late now. The end came faster than we expected. Would you like a Bloody Mary?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, please. For some reason I only remember I like them when I’m sitting in a plane. Why is that?’

Evan barked with laughter and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the rattle of glasses.

I looked around the living room. It was beige and unremarkable: heavy curtains tied with tassels; cream carpet; silver-framed family photos. There were plenty of bouquets left over from the wake, some still in Cellophane, some starting to wilt. The raincoat was folded neatly on a chair.