If, or when, they told him the cancer had returned, Angel thought he might kill himself. He’d asked Jennifer Parker about it, in one of his dreams. He’d been raised Catholic, and a fear of damnation persisted. Suicides, he recalled, received scant mercy in the next world. But in his dream, Jennifer had told him not to worry.

‘In whatever manner you find your way here,’ she said, ‘I’ll be waiting. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.’

Angel had wanted to point out that, since he would be dead, something bad would already have happened to him. He’d resisted the impulse, though, because a bad state of affairs could always be made worse. Also, it seemed imprudent to crack wise with a ghost, even in a dream.

Louis, who had proceeded upstairs ahead of him, called his name and instructed him to stop bothering Mrs Bondarchuk.

‘Go on up,’ said Mrs Bondarchuk. ‘Rest awhile.’

Angel did as he was told. He would never have admitted it aloud, but he felt that Mrs Bondarchuk might have been right about those two extra blocks each way. His insides hurt, and he felt the urge to lie down and close his eyes. He was already on the fourth step when Mrs Bondarchuk said, ‘You think maybe the Fulci boys will come visit again soon?’

Angel sighed. Yes, a bad state of affairs could always be made worse. Had the Fulci brothers been younger, and without a mother of their own, Mrs Bondarchuk might have adopted them, in which case even the rats would have moved out.

‘God, I hope not,’ he said softly, but Mrs Bondarchuk misheard, or decided to give the impression of it.

‘I hope so, too,’ she said.

And smiling, she closed the door.