‘A dreadful matter with that guy Mitch!’ Arthur yelled from the kitchen. I heard the tinkle of glasses and a bottle being uncorked. A long mirror ran the length of the lounge’s front wall which had recently been painted a garish red. I always thought of Arthur as a brown or grey man, with the merest hint of dirty beige. He didn’t do bright tones. The colour in the flat seemed an incongruous choice.

On a side wall was a reprint map, unframed, of the whole of North London. I went up close and saw small black ink dots placed atop familiar landmarks. The Whetstone, Henley’s Corner, Hadley Highstone and Muswell Hill Broadway all had a dark blob over the names. I had to strain my eyes, unsure at first if they were only random dirt smudges.

‘That’s a 1910 copy of the original map,’ chirped my host as he came back holding two large glasses of white wine. ‘Chardonnay for my Amber.’ He smiled and handed me a copious measure. We raised our glasses and it brought back memories of the last meal we shared at the Italian restaurant on the Finchley Road.

A small drop-leaf table was pushed up against the wall and a selection of black and green olives was laid out on top of a plastic table cloth.

‘I thought we could order pizzas and stay in? As you know, I’m not much of a chef,’ Arthur joked. When we sat down, Arthur on his dull brown leather sofa and me on the single worn armchair, he turned the conversation back to my dead boyfriend’s murder.

‘I’m sorry about that guy Dawson. I know you’d been seeing him. I hope you weren’t too involved. He wasn’t a very nice guy from what I’ve heard.’ Arthur had never been a drinker so it came as a surprise to me when he gulped large mouthfuls of wine one after the other.

‘Actually, Arthur, Mitch and I were to be married.’

At this point, I slid off my silky black gloves. I’d been anticipating this moment with relish. I waved my left ring finger skittishly up and down in the air. I remembered if Arthur didn’t like something you said or disagreed with your opinion, he would stay silent and stare right through you. As he glared, I carried on.

‘We were in love, Arthur. I’m sorry. I know you and Rebecca Carrington…’ her name stuck in the craw and the haunting image of her face flashed in front of me, ‘…were going out and it must be dreadful for her, having been at the murder scene, but I’m absolutely devastated. Mitch was the love of my life. He was my soulmate.’ I lifted my glass and took my own large mouthfuls.

Arthur set his glass down on the table, got up and returned to the kitchen.