‘You’ve got him to yourself now.’ The man glared at me. ‘Isn’t that enough for you? And don’t tell me he invited you. Even Trev wouldn’t do something that sodding stupid.’ He leaned closer; his spit spattered my skin. ‘So why don’t you sod off home? Haven’t you done enough fucking damage? They’ll be arriving any moment. You really think they want to see you here?’

A woman hurried over. ‘That’s not her, you pillock!’

‘Course it is,’ he said. ‘I’d recognise her anywhere.’

She pulled him aside. ‘You only saw her the once, didn’t you?’ she hissed. ‘On the Kilburn High Road. This isn’t her! Put on your specs, you moron! This lady’s twice her age.’ She turned to me. ‘No offence, darling.’

So I never met the adulterous Trev or tasted his pulled pork. I drove home in a state of suppressed hysterics. How I longed to tell Azra! Even Greg, not the world’s most attentive listener, would have laughed. In fact, of course, I couldn’t have told anyone, because then they’d have learned what I was up to. Even putting it into words made me feel a little more bonkers.

It’s funny, about compartments. Trev, no doubt, kept his affair in its own little box. Maybe it had been going on for years, sealed off in its own perma-climate, insulated from the drudgery of normal life and never leaking out. But there, always there. While blamelessly frolicking with his grandson, Trev was plotting his next visit to his young mistress—so dispiritingly younger than me. I pictured him on holiday in the Scottish Highlands. While Vronny scratched her midge bites, Trev strode through the heather on his bowed jockey’s legs. Just going for a dump, he’d say, but, once out of sight, furtively searching for a phone signal. How potent these secret lives could be!

Adulterers, transvestites, serial killers—they all needed to compartmentalise. Me, too. I kept my funeral forays in their own little box. It was safer that way.

You might think that I’d be put off the whole idea by now. In fact, it was quite the opposite. My two attempts had ended in failure, but I didn’t consider them disasters. I’d managed to pull myself together, get dressed up, get out of the house and attend the funerals of total strangers. In my state of mind, that was a huge achievement. I’d done it! I’d kept my wits about me when I thought I’d lost them completely. I’d entered into the hot, beating hearts of other people’s lives and remained undiscovered. The chances had always been slim, I’d known that from the start. All I needed was perseverance.

And it was now November, the dreariest month of the year. Another winter alone and I would kill myself.

So every Thursday I still bought the local paper.