There was nothing left for the ambulance crew to do. She’d had her time. The family and the undertakers would take over from there.

But I met the carer who had found her in distress and called the ambulance. She was locking up the house afterwards.

“I’ve cared for her for years,” she told me. “And we didn’t always get on. Still, you don’t ‘do’ for someone for that long without, in some way, getting attached to them. But it was just a job, and she wasn’t mine. That’s as far as I could go with her. Still...”

I was at a loss for words, so I simply asked: “What’s next?”

“I’ll sit in my car,” she said. “I’ll have a cigarette to calm me, and I’ll have a wee cry. Then... on to the next client.”

Caring, I thought, it’s a tough job. And who cares for the carers?