The sound of the newspaper and then, a few minutes later, a bundle of post being pushed through the letterbox and hitting the mat was a reminder that the world was outside, trying to get in. Soon there would be things to do, duties to fulfill, responsibilities, observances. But first I phoned Tania again. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wanted to catch you before you went to work.”

“I’ve been thinking about it all night,” she said. “I’ve hardly slept. I can’t believe it.”

“When you get in, could you check who Greg was seeing yesterday?”

“He just spent the day at the office, then left to go home.”

“He might have called in on a client on his way, dropped something off. If you could have a look at his diary . . .”

“I’ll do anything, Ellie,” said Tania, “but what am I looking for?”

“Ask Joe if Greg said anything to him yesterday.”

“Joe wasn’t in the office. He was on a visit.”

“It was a woman.”

“Yes, I knew that. I’ll try.”

I thanked her and put the phone down. It rang instantly. Greg’s father had questions he wanted to ask me. He sounded formal and rehearsed, as if he had written them down before speaking to me. I wasn’t able to answer any of them. I had already told him everything I knew. He told me that Kitty hadn’t slept the whole night and I wondered if he was making a point about who was mourning most. When he put the phone down, I felt I had failed a test. I wasn’t being an adequate wife. Widow. The word almost made me laugh. It wasn’t a word for people like me. It was for old women with headscarves, pulling shopping baskets on wheels, women who had expected widowhood, had prepared for and accepted it.