I braced myself for the tide of disapproval that was about to slap me in the face over skiving from work and rang the woman who owed me no favours at all.

IRENE

She hadn’t known who else to call.

Frank was a stranger, someone who had done an old woman a kindness when she had been in need. He wasn’t family, or even a friend. But there was no one else here.

Right after it happened, when the nice West Indian doctor came and found her in the corridor and spoke to her very slowly and quietly, Irene hadn’t really followed what she said. She’d known, anyway, when everything went crazy in Michael’s room. She’d had a mother’s instinct that he was lost to her.

They had made her wait to speak to the police; a nice enough young female constable who looked about twelve and a very slightly older male with a big Adam’s apple who kept swallowing, as if he was nervous. They had asked about Michael’s state of mind too, just as the doctor had.

She’d had to tell them that, yes, he had been made redundant a while back, and yes, he had been prescribed anti-depressants by the doctor. That yes, maybe he had some odd ideas about things sometimes. She hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but it felt as though they were guiding her in a certain direction.

It was obvious what they thought. That Michael had chosen this end for his too-short life.

Frank had come quickly when the nurse asked if there was anyone they could call for her. She’d greeted him in a flurry of apologies and all he’d done was bow his head and say he was terribly sorry for her loss and that his ‘humble abode’ was open to her during this difficult time. She had slept solidly for ten hours, much to her amazement, and hadn’t yet had the sort of crying fit that she knew would hollow her out and leave her fit for nothing. Tears had leaked slowly almost constantly but she had made herself act in a dignified way, the humiliation and loneliness of having to rely on a stranger being an effective stopper on her emotions.

Frank lived in a tidy three-storey house not that far from the seafront. Evidence of his late wife was everywhere, from the framed photos of the couple, to the embroidered and knitted items that seemed to cover every surface.