‘I …’ It took her a moment to realise that her mother had written only a surname. They can’t have known each other well. This was a mistake. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you knew my mother. Avigail Goldsmith.’

He didn’t reply, and she thought for a moment that he was going to be the one to hang up the phone.

‘Why are you calling?’

‘I found your number, in my mum’s address book and I—’

‘Just tell me,’ he said, ‘please. Just …’

The pause seemed endless to Eva, as her mind slowly caught up with the conversation.

‘… is she ill?’ he asked. ‘Has something happened?’

Eva felt a lurch in her stomach, wrapped her free arm around her waist to try and stop the reaction. She’d forgotten what it was like, having to tell people.

‘Yes,’ Eva said.

She heard his breath as he exhaled close to the phone. Was he genuinely upset?

‘I’m sorry, she passed away,’ she corrected.

Eva hadn’t meant to make it sound so recent, or so blunt, but her mum’s death was still raw. Besides, she’d never known how to soften the bad news for others. Sometimes, before falling asleep, she’d forget everything that had happened these past six years, and she’d be back to what things were like before. Her mum’s face as they argued in the office, eyes blazing, her laugh a crescendo, drinking wine over dinner, Eva confiding in her about how much she missed the garden now she was living with Piotr. Then she’d jolt awake, remember what had happened but think, just for a second, that it had all been a nightmare. That it was OK. That she’d find her mum downstairs making tea. And then she’d feel in her stomach that it wasn’t OK at all. None of it was OK.

‘Are you in London?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I’m, unfortunately, I’m very busy, we have … so much work but, if it’s in London, I’d like to come to the funeral.’

‘Oh. God, I’m sorry. It’s too late, she … I didn’t realise …’

There was silence on the line while Eva searched, unsuccessfully, for something to say. She couldn’t find any words.

‘Perhaps lunch then?’ he said hurriedly.

‘What?’

‘I can take a break at one. It’s the only time I have … Things are busy. Can you meet me for lunch?’

She calculated the time it would take to get to the station, the trains every half-hour at this time of day, but she could get there. Of course she could get there. She didn’t know why she was hesitating like this.

‘I’d appreciate it,’ he said.