“I think I’ll spare people that,” I said.

I chose a coffin made from woven willow because it didn’t look like a coffin. Mr. Collingwood said approvingly that it was chosen by many people who were concerned about environmental issues. For some reason that irritated me and I suddenly wished I’d chosen one made of hazardous waste. Mr. Collingwood excused himself and withdrew into a small office at the back. I heard the grinding sound of a printer and he returned with a piece of paper, which he slid across the desk toward me. “We believe it’s important to give a written estimate,” he said.

I looked at it and gulped. “Bloody hell,” I said. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t realized . . .” Then I stopped, suddenly ashamed. It didn’t seem a decent subject to haggle over but I had been startled. The estimate was more than we had paid for our car, and that hadn’t been particularly cheap. Mr. Collingwood wasn’t disconcerted—he must have had worse cases than me. He assured me that the funeral could be as simple as I wanted.

I studied the estimate, item by item. “You will organize the whole funeral?”

Mr. Collingwood nodded.

I took a deep breath. “OK,” I said.

I MEANT TO go straight home. There were so many things that needed doing, so many tasks and lists and duties. Instead I went into Kentish Town station, took a southbound train and got off at Kennington. When I came out of the station I felt, as I always did when I came south of the river, that I had emerged in a city in another country, even if the language was deceptively similar, as if I had arrived in New York or Sydney. I knew that the Livingstones had lived at number sixteen Dormer Road, so I went into a newsagent’s and bought an A–Z. It took only a few minutes to walk there—but in those minutes I went from one world, of high-rise blocks and dilapidated tenements, to another, of discreet wealth and cool grandeur.

The Livingstones’ house was large and white, set back from the road. I instantly disliked its pillared porch and raked gravel, and this helped me march up the short sweep of a drive and ring the bell before I had time to think about what I was doing or prepare an explanation. Only when I heard footsteps coming toward the door did I feel a tremble of anxiety go through me.

“Yeah?”