Not waiting for me to reply, he grabbed the toast plate and disappeared. I took the time to appraise the room – too small to be the main living room in a house this big, it looked like a sort of nursery-study hybrid, with a desk underneath the large sash window opposite me, covered in papers, mugs and other mess. The wall to one side contained bookshelves stuffed with books, folders and other random items. The wall across from that had a changing table pushed up against it, on top of which was a mountain of tiny clothes, a packet of nappies, several of which were spilling out, wipes, bottles, a dummy and other baby related paraphernalia. The floor was relatively empty, but a pile of clutter in the space between the desk and the changing table implied that this was because everything had been shoved out of the way to create a path to the sofa. The walls were bare, the paintwork shabby. The grimy window was framed by a wonky blind. Looking up, a bare bulb swung amongst trails of cobwebs. This room was worse than the kitchen. Full of stuff, but empty of all warmth or beauty.

The man returned, placing a mug in my hand and fresh toast on the table.

‘Thank you.’

He nodded.

‘I’m so sorry for ruining your day like this.’ Sorry, and embarrassed.

‘And I’m sorry you had to hear such bad news straight after crashing your car.’

‘If you could call that garage, I’ll get out of your way as soon as possible.’ I took a tentative bite of thick, buttery toast, resisting the urge to groan in relief.

‘I already called. The car’s… not fine… but shall we say, no worse than it was before rolling into the ditch. They’ll drop it off later.’

‘Thanks. You’ve been unnecessarily kind.’

He shrugged, burying his face in his own mug. ‘Charlie would have done the same.’

‘Probably.’

He looked up, the faint tug of a smile on his lips. ‘And then cooked you a three-course dinner before inviting you to move in.’

‘She’d have burned the dinner, though, left the kitchen a total wreck and ordered a pizza.’

He full-on smiled then. ‘That sounds about right.’

I chewed slowly on another bite of toast, working up to my question. ‘Um… can I ask what happened?’

‘How she died?’ He sighed, putting the mug down and deftly plucking the baby out of her chair and tucking her into his chest before continuing. For the first time I clicked that this could be Charlie’s baby, but before I could ask, her dad spoke again. ‘This is Hope. Charlie’s daughter. She was born in June.’

A girl. Dressed in a green top and blue trousers, it had been impossible to be sure. I mean, she was incredibly cute, with thick hair and huge eyes, a tiny nose and round, rosy cheeks, but don’t most babies look that pretty?

‘Charlie had… struggled with being pregnant. And afterwards, she got worse. We discovered later it was post-partum psychosis. She was last seen by the old Ferrington Bridge. They found her a few days later.’ He shrugged, face blank, but his voice had cracked on the words. ‘We’ll never know what happened, but I’ve reached the conclusion it doesn’t make any difference.’