And I stood in a car park on Fairlane Road on a Tuesday night in February and worked out that the answer was that it had never happened to me, not once, in fifty-eight years.

Aracely Espinoza spoke after me.

She had not told me she was going to.

She had signed the card at 6:51, three minutes after I did, and she had written hers out longhand and she read it, and it took her a minute and fifty seconds because she read it slowly and stopped twice.

She said her daughter’s name.

She said the six dates.