Fifteen years older and your tutor. He should have been a father figure, not a lover. Yes, I know I’ve told you that before, many times, building to a critical mass which forced you to tell me in so many words to butt out, only you would have used the English equivalent and told me to stop putting my nose in. DS Finborough was still waiting for my reply.

‘You asked me if I am close to her, not if I understand her.’

Now, I think I do, but not then.

DS Finborough told me more about the reconstruction.

‘A lady working at the post office on Exhibition Road remembers Tess buying a card and also air-mail stamps, some time before two p.m. She didn’t say Tess was pregnant, but I suppose there was a counter between them so she wouldn’t have seen.’

I saw Mum coming along the corridor towards us as DS Finborough continued.

‘Tess posted the card from the same post office some time before two fifteen.’

Mum’s voice snapped with exhausted patience. ‘The card was my birthday card. She hasn’t been to see me for months. Hardly ever phones. But sends me a card as if that makes it all right.’

A couple of weeks before, I’d reminded you that it was her birthday coming up, hadn’t I?

Before we go on, as I want to be honest in the telling of this story, I have to admit that you were right about Todd. He didn’t hear my song. Because I’d never once sung to him. Or to anyone else for that matter. Perhaps I am like one of those birds that can only imitate car alarms.

Mr Wright gets up to close a Venetian blind against the bright spring sunshine.

‘And later that day you did the reconstruction?’ he asks.