At 3:17 in the morning the police rang to tell me my husband had been killed in a crash, while he was asleep beside me with one leg over mine. The officer said: leave the room without waking the man next to you.

And he told me about the chapel wall at college, and the garlic bread, and how I had nearly died of embarrassment afterward about my breath.

Nobody else in the world knows that.

I wanted to be relieved and I nearly got there.

Then he pressed the button for our floor with his left hand, and Cassian does everything with his right, and I stood in that lift and felt the floor move.

At nine the police rang again.

The truck had left our parking garage at twenty-two minutes past ten the previous night. The driver wore a cap. The camera angle is useless.