I’m sorry. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I love you both so much.

‘He didn’t finish it,’ I say when Marsh holds out his hand. I give it back to him reluctantly. ‘I don’t believe it’s a suicide note. He wanted to tell me something.’

‘He’s asking you to forgive him,’ Marsh points out. ‘Perhaps he’s expecting it to become public knowledge, and he couldn’t handle it. He took the only way out.’

‘No. That letter has been crumpled up at some stage, so that implies he threw it away, doesn’t it?’

Marsh sighs. ‘We’ll show it to a psychologist. See what they say. But at the very least, this proves that Nick was in torment.’

I put my hand in front of my mouth to stop the moan of despair. Marsh holds the door open and settles me in the police car.

An officer lays the bag on the table and opens it with latex-gloved hands, and an odour of damp leaves and dirt fills the room. There are the blue deck shoes Nick had been wearing. His wallet. A pen. A blue cotton hanky. The officer opens the wallet so that I can inspect the credit cards. There’s a lump in my throat as I shake my head and look down at my hands.

He misinterprets. ‘The items don’t belong to Mr Ritchie?’

‘Yes. Yes, they do. Sorry, I … I don’t need to see any more,’ I say. ‘It all belongs to Nick.’

It’s midday when I’m delivered home in a police car, drained and emotionally exhausted. I can hardly believe it was only yesterday that I found Cora showing an estate agent round. Too much has happened, and my mind is reeling. I let myself in, and walk straight to the fridge, take out a bottle of white wine even though it’s early afternoon. I pour myself a generous measure, wander outside and sit down. Toffee mooches around the flower beds, following the scent of Mrs Jeffers’ cats. They treat these gardens as their fiefdom. I stare at the blossom, thinking how much Nick loved this time of year, how much he loved to see things change. I changed when I met him. I blossomed and thrived, but the rot was there all the time, I suppose.

Tim puts a sandwich down in front of me. I pick it up and nibble the edges. After a minute or two Cora comes out and the three of us sit side by side, in an oddly companionable silence. Tim looks older and smaller. Cora is diminished too. All I can think is that now, surely, they will go.