Google Maps tells me that St Mary’s Road is a five-minute walk in the opposite direction. I spin around, skid on the wet pavement and a sharp pain circles my ankle as the heel on my shoe snaps. I fall forwards onto the hard concrete, slamming hard onto my knees. My tights are torn, my skin grazed and bloodied. I wrench off my shoes, and carry them in my hand as I limp. Hair plastered to my face with rain. I am freezing cold, and frustrated tears are not far away but I try to keep them inside. I can imagine my mascara streaking down my cheeks. In the unlikely event I am about to come face to face with Adam’s secret girlfriend, she will only need one quick glance to wonder what he ever saw in me.

By the time I find St Mary’s Road I am soaked to the bone. These are all three-storey Victorian homes, most of them converted to businesses. I pass a dentist. A solicitor. An optician. I hobble slowly, checking the numbers carefully. Number 62 doesn’t have a bronze plaque outside and I wonder whether it’s a family home. Blinds shield the windows.

This is it.

My ankle and knees sting. I climb the six steps before I am standing in front of an imposing black door with a silver lion’s-head knocker.

Before I can change my mind, I rap three times.

It seems an age before I hear heels click-click-clicking down the hallway.

The door cracks open. ‘Yes?’ The woman before me is probably around my age. Pretty in her vintage A-line polka-dot dress, her dark brown up-do and deep red lipstick. Her eyes sweep from my hair, dripping with rain, to my torn tights, the blood running down my leg.

‘I’m here for…’ I falter. What am I here for? ‘Adam. Adam Curtis.’ I study her carefully. There isn’t a flicker of recognition on her face when I speak his name. ‘There’s no one here called Adam.’

‘This building? What is it? What happens here?’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘I…’ I think about saying yes but know I’ll be caught out right away.

‘No.’

‘Then I can’t help you.’ She begins to close the door.

‘Please.’ I step forward, my foot over the threshold preventing the door from closing. ‘Please. I…’ I don’t know what I can say. What I should say. It sounds crazy. It is crazy but Adam wanted me to come here, I know it. ‘My husband. Adam. He’s…’ I try to stop myself from crying but I can’t. Wiping furiously at my cheeks while I try to steady my voice. ‘My husband died. We buried him… today. I’ve just come from the wake.’ Her face softens. The pressure against my foot eases as she stops pushing the door towards me.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’