I was so lost in all of this that I collided with someone and had to reach out to stop her falling. But she dropped her shopping bags, and cans rolled out and a bag of rice split on the pavement. I looked at her in shock, as if I’d been unconscious and suddenly brought round and didn’t know where I was.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘That was completely my fault. Let me help you.’

‘Oh dear,’ she said, flustered. ‘Look at the mess.’ The rice had scattered around us, and several green apples were rolling across the pavement towards the road. ‘But it was probably me. I’m terribly clumsy. My husband’s always scolding me.’

I bent down and started to replace the shopping. ‘I’ll buy you another bag of rice. Let’s see. Basmati.’

‘You really don’t need to. It was a mistake. Most people wouldn’t even have stopped. They’d have shouted something and rushed on.’

‘I’m glad I’m not most people, then. These apples are bruised, I’m afraid. I’ll buy some more of them as well.’

‘Please don’t.’

‘At least let me carry them for you. Do you live near here?’

‘Just a few yards away. Number fifty-four.’

‘I live at seventy-two. We’re neighbours!’ I moved the bags to my left hand and held out the right.

The woman blushed and shook it. ‘Hello,’ she said shyly. ‘I wish more people on this road were like you.’

‘I’ve just moved in. My name’s David.’

‘I’m Margaret,’ she said, ‘but friends call me Peggy.’

Chapter Twenty-eight

We walked down the road together, and I noticed how she patted her hair surreptitiously and straightened her thick jacket as we did so. She was nervous of me. I’d been bad after Pippa. A feeling had been starting in my head. Now it was lifting.

Her house was smaller than the one I’d moved into, and in a much better state of repair. The window-frames were newly painted, the front door a smooth dark green. When she unlocked it and pushed it open, I could see that inside it was also tidy. Too tidy. Madly tidy. Even from here, I could smell the detergent and polish and loneliness.

‘Thank you so much.’

‘It was my pleasure, Peggy,’ I said. ‘I’ll look out for you on the street.’

‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Or we could have some wine, I suppose. It’s after six o’clock.’

‘I’d love a cup of coffee.’ I stepped over the threshold with the bags.

‘You would?’

‘I don’t know anyone round here,’ I said. ‘You’re the first friendly face I’ve met.’

She nodded.

There wasn’t a speck of dirt in the kitchen. Even the dozens of porcelain figurines on the dresser were clean. Peggy put on an apron – as if you really needed to put on an apron to make coffee – and filled the kettle. I sat at the small round table and looked at her. She was quite short, and not slim but not plump either. Compact. Her hair was cut in a bob and a glossy dark brown that looked natural to me. She had pink cheeks and her skin was still quite smooth, although I saw that there were tiny lines above her mouth and under her eyes, but when I examined her neck I estimated that she must be in her mid-fifties, about the same as my mother. Under her jacket she wore a powder-blue turtleneck, and a calf-length blue skirt that she ran her hands down anxiously, making sure it wasn’t wrinkled or rising up. She wore sensible shoes and through her tights I saw the first traces of varicose veins.

‘So, Peggy,’ I said, ‘how long have you lived in Maitland Road, then?’

She arranged biscuits on a plate. ‘Nearly twenty-seven years.’

‘You were here as a child, then?’

‘No!’ Her pink cheeks became pinker. ‘You’re teasing me. No, we bought this house just after we got married. It was different then. My husband says we should move. He doesn’t like the way it’s going.’

‘What way is that?’

‘The kind of people who live round here.’

‘Do you want to move?’

‘I don’t know. I like the house.’

‘It’s lovely.’

‘But I don’t really feel I belong here. We’re not like the other people on the road. Here, do you take milk?’

‘Just a bit. No sugar. What do you mean, the other people?’

‘Well, your house, for instance. Everyone in it is so…’ She hesitated.

‘Go on.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘They’re the sort of people who come for a bit,’ she said, ‘and then go. Move on. Not like real neighbours. That what the road’s like.’

‘I think I know how you feel,’ I said.

‘Do you?’

‘The thing is, Peggy, I’ve only been in London a short while. I grew up in a small village, where everyone knew everyone else and looked out for each other. It was a real community. If someone was in trouble, they would be helped. If someone did wrong, they would be discovered. That’s just the way it was there. And since Mum died -’ I stopped abruptly.

‘Yes?’ she probed softly.

‘I don’t usually talk about it. My father died when I was little, I can hardly remember him now, and a few months ago my mother died of cancer. She’d been ill for a very long time and I stayed there so I could look after her and be with her. I was her only child. She didn’t have anyone else.’ I looked into Peggy’s eyes. ‘Neither did I.’

‘You poor thing.’

‘I’m all right, really. Just a bit sad still. These things take time. Maybe I’m telling you all of this because you remind me of her.’

‘Do I?’

‘In a way. Do you have children, Peggy?’

‘No. It didn’t happen,’ she said simply.

‘I’m sorry. That must have been hard.’

‘It’s a long time ago now.’

‘Of course.’

We sat drinking our coffee. I ate two biscuits, at her insistence, and she told me which shops to use and which to avoid. There were five cards standing on the window-sill and in a pause I asked her when her birthday was.

‘Two days ago. I don’t really make any fuss about it nowadays. It’s not something you want to remember.’

‘Two days ago. You mean last Thursday?’

‘Yes.’

‘But that’s my birthday too.’

‘No! What an extraordinary coincidence.’

‘Amazing,’ I said. ‘We must have been fated to meet.’

I told myself to make a note of the date of last Thursday before I forgot it and slipped up. Peggy excused herself and left the kitchen. I waited a few seconds, and when I heard her going up the stairs, I leaned forward and pulled her bag towards me. There were several notes folded in her wallet. I took out a ten, then pushed the bag back where it had been. After all, I was out of pocket with all the wine I’d been buying for the house, and I could spend a small part of the money on the Basmati rice I’d promised her. That would please her.

That Saturday night, the house was almost empty. Pippa wasn’t there when I returned, and I met Astrid coming down the stairs as I went up, obviously on her way somewhere. It was the first time I had seen her wearing a dress: a short, simple red silk shift. With her long golden legs and slim tanned arms, her dark hair brushed back and her lips painted scarlet, she looked astonishing. I tried not to stare at her, but my chest felt uncomfortably tight.

‘Hi, Davy, how’s it going?’ she asked.

‘Fine,’ I replied. ‘I’m glad to be here.’

‘We’re glad to have you. I’ll see you later, then.’

‘Maybe we can have coffee together tomorrow?’

‘Sure,’ she said lightly.

And so, with a backward wave, she was gone. I was beginning to get the hang of the people in this house. You couldn’t be too earnest or oppressive. People here were free in a way I hadn’t come across before.

Miles was out as well, and Owen – though not with Astrid, I was glad to know. That left only Dario – who was lying in a stoned stupor in the basement kitchen – and Mick, who was in his room with the door shut and probably locked. I decided to risk it.

I started with Miles’s room. It was the best in the house by far and it annoyed me that he had done so little to make the most of it. The large bay windows looked out on to the street, and one side of the room was entirely lined with a large cupboard. I pulled open one of the doors and peered inside. As well as towels and sheets, there were several cardboard boxes, filled with old music magazines, academic quarterlies, Ordnance Survey maps and files, which, on further scrutiny, turned out to be full of bills and letters. I didn’t have time to read any now, but I promised myself I would later. I closed the cupboards and turned my attention to the rest of the room. There were no real surprises. The wardrobe contained suits and shirts, all of which looked quite expensive. I pulled open the drawers of the chest and found nothing interesting except a pack of condoms among the underwear. Time to move on.