‘I’m just back for a few days,’ she said.

‘OK, but what are you doing here?’

‘Can’t stay away,’ said Bea.

Jen, Gita, Helen, Jeff. Their routine was interrupted, they loved it.

‘Do you mind if I just sit for a bit?’

‘Whatever you like. It’s brilliant to see you.’

It was all exactly as she’d left it. She sat in the office, and watched the start of their day, and then the clients arriving. She felt like a ghost. If she could have joined the living, she would have done. She deflected their questions with questions of her own, and didn’t tell them about Alex. There was respite in being in a world where nobody knew.

‘I wish I could work,’ she said. ‘Anything for me to do?’

‘You’re mad.’

At nine fifteen sessions started and she left. There was no excuse to stay.

‘See you in September –’

‘Goodbye, have fun –’

She watched the bus that would take her home go by, and almost ran to catch it, so that she could let herself into the empty, unlet flat and hide there. She thought of going to the charity offices where she volunteered, but the team on the helpline might not appreciate her dropping by for no reason. If she called a friend, she would have to talk about herself. She walked north, up Holloway Road, to the Oxfam shop. She was in luck, Veena was there, and the tiny storeroom was in chaos.

Veena was ridiculously happy to be helped. She made them both tea, and then Bea went into the back, with the donations.

‘I haven’t seen that crazy knife girl again,’ said Veena. ‘But I do wonder what happened to her.’

‘Me too.’

‘So, how have you been?’

‘Yes, fine,’ said Bea. ‘Fine.’

Dan dressed and went downstairs. It was half past nine. Electricians were laying cables in the garden. Blessica made him breakfast. He ate it looking up at the chandelier, which was a cluster of long geometric lights, suspended from the hall ceiling hanging down through the void of the double-height space. Dan thought he knew his style, he considered himself someone with a developed aesthetic, but this house threw him off; he couldn’t tell how he felt about any of it. He’d studied Murano glass. Were the lights modern Murano? Were they resin? Could they be shell?

‘How do you clean those?’ he asked Blessica as she ran back down the stairs from answering the door. She just laughed.

He googled three-bedroom houses in London, and marvelled that one of them would be his. One thousand eight hundred square feet, south-facing garden. Add to basket, he thought. Checkout. He heard a door slam, and footsteps, and Griff came down into the kitchen.

‘Dan,’ he said, ‘where’s St Beatrice?’

‘Gone to see her mates,’ said Dan.

‘The house is going to be overrun today. I’m going out.’