The last few days had been interesting. She had surprised herself the day after she had left the terraced house, waking up and feeling the need to return to the scene of the crime.

She had dressed carefully, concealing her face with a beanie hat and a scarf that covered her nose and mouth, and had taken the train all the way back to Essex. It was the same train she had escaped the house on, having decided against a taxi. Clarity had fought through the panic: what if the son demanded that William’s death was looked into? What if the taxi company were contacted and said they’d given her a lift the day after the date she’d written in the goodbye card?

In the end she had slipped out of the back door, hauling three bags, struggling under the weight as she slunk off to the station, light-headed and near to collapse once more by the time she staggered onto the train that would take her far, far away from the scene of the crime.

Now, there was no movement from William’s house, and it was too cold for Mr Henderson to be skulking around the front. In the café opposite, which she had never visited before, she ordered a coffee and sat in the window, waiting for William’s son to put in an appearance.

She was on her second latte when he pulled up. Even though she’d never seen him before, she knew immediately that this was the famous Jason. His all-round tan, the slightly shell-shocked expression on his face worn by those living in sunnier climates all year round who are forced back to wintry Britain. He looked in a rush, and it was with spiteful satisfaction that Anna watched him stamp his feet against the cold as he rapped repeatedly on William’s door.

Her heart rate sped up as he bent over and pushed the flap of the letter box to peer inside. And even from across the road she heard his shout, a primitive yell as he straightened up and rammed at the locked door with his big shoulder.

She sipped at her coffee, running her eyes up and down the distraught man’s figure. Another rugby player, she mused, treading that fine line between muscular and fat. She wondered which would eventually win.

Finally, the hammering on the door brought Mr Henderson outside. Gestures from Jason, Mr Henderson hurrying back inside his own house to fetch the spare key that Anna hadn’t realised he had. Then they were pushing at the door, Mr Henderson clapping his hand over his mouth as it jammed against William’s body, Jason shoving his way inside.

The big man dropped to his knees, and the last thing Anna saw before the door swung closed was William’s limp arm, the sagging skin mottled a deep red.