I could get the sort of job anyone could get—serving fast food or cleaning toilets. Even as I had the thought, I knew I couldn’t. However much I needed money—and I did, urgently—I wasn’t the sort of person who would do anything to get it. I didn’t see any point in prolonging my life purely for the sake of it; if I wasn’t able to do something that mattered to me, I’d rather stop doing altogether.

I turned on the ignition, then turned it off again. Carbon monoxide poisoning. Probably the easiest way, I thought. After all, I had a car. I was in it now. If I had a length of rubber hose-pipe with me, I could do it right here, get it over with.

My mind started to wander aimlessly. Him and Her came into my thoughts, but for once there was no friction. I wondered idly if, by ending my life, I would alter the balance of blame between us. I was so tired of blame—of hoarding it all for myself, of giving it out. Someone else could take over the precise measurements, the minute calculations, that were necessary for its correct distribution.

A knocking sound near my head made me jump. My vision was blurred. I felt dizzy, and couldn’t see what was outside my car at first. Then I recognised Aidan; he was tapping on the window. Funny, I thought. I’d almost completely forgotten him in a few seconds; he’d drifted far away, along with the rest of the world I was preparing to leave. I ignored his knocking.

He pulled open the car door. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘You look terrible.’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘Are you sick? Do you need help?’

I needed a drink. I’d eaten and drunk nothing all day; I’d been too nervous. I imagined a hot cup of tea, fizzy Coke, even flat Coke. I started to cry. How could I want to die and want flat Coke at the same time? ‘I’m a stupid fuckhead,’ I told Aidan.

‘You can talk me through your CV later,’ he said. ‘Look . . . you don’t want to let the likes of me upset you. My interview technique’s a bit rusty. I’ve never had anyone work for me before. It’s always just been me.’ He shrugged. ‘If you still want the job, it’s yours.’

‘I don’t want it,’ I whispered, trying to wipe my face.

Aidan crouched down beside the car. ‘Ruth, Hansard hasn’t been bad-mouthing you. Far from it. All he said was that you offended one of his regulars without meaning to, and lost him a client he was happy to see the back of. If someone as mild as Saul Hansard says something like that the way he said it to me . . . Look, we’ve all got nightmare customers. Hansard, me—any picture-framer’d tell you. There’s the ones who can’t choose and force you to make all the decisions for them, then kick off when it’s done and they decide they don’t like it. The ones I hate most are the neurotics who spot tiny specks of dust on the inside of the glass, and insist on having the whole thing opened up and the glass cleaned, and then you have to reframe it, but they don’t pay for the second framing.’