Once her initial anger had subsided she’d come to the realisation that she couldn’t put all of the blame on him. When she’d met him, at the May Ball in her second year at university, he’d swept her off her feet. He was stylish, confident and best of all devoted to her. And she’d all too willingly abandoned any dreams she might have had of pursuing a fledgling career in archaeology in order to become his wife.

Their marriage had seemed to her, at least at the time, a happy one. So nothing could have prepared her for the tsunami of emotions that she’d been subjected to when she’d discovered that he’d invested all of their capital – and more – into a property finance scheme in the US that had turned out not to be worth the paper it was written on.

The final straw was being forced to sell her sports car. She’d loved her little Mazda MX5. But it wasn’t a very practical mode of transport for an archaeologist and once the precarious state in which Stephen had left their finances became clear she hadn’t really had much choice in the matter. And as it turned out she’d rather taken to her little blue Fiesta.

The one untouched part of Stephen’s life that she hadn’t managed to work her way through was the hotch potch of paperwork and personal memorabilia from his study. In life it had been his space – his retreat – and in death she found his presence there just too overwhelming.

His colleague James had offered to give her a hand. But he’d done so much to help already, she hadn’t felt she could impose any further. And, besides, so much of it was personal stuff she wasn’t sure she was willing to let anyone else trawl through it, however good a friend he may have been to Stephen. But it must have been obvious to James that despite her protestations she was finding the idea of going through it all too much to bear because he’d suggested just binning the lot.

Eventually she’d acquiesced, but despite it all she couldn’t bring herself to do it. By which point she’d run out of time, and when the removals company had arrived she’d just had them box it up. And here it had remained, dumped in a corner of the spare room of her flat where, aside from its accusing presence when her mum or Jo came to stay, she’d been able to ignore it. At least until now.

Clare closed the lid of the box she’d been going through and made her way into the kitchen. She’d had enough for one night. And she had more pressing concerns on her mind at the moment.