Four pounds fifty, and a man who thought he was being a good son.
And the last thing.
I have thought a great deal about the folder.
It was a blue document wallet with a site survey in it, and I left it on the hall table at about quarter to seven that morning in a hurry, and I did not notice until I was shutting down at twenty past seven that evening.
If the meeting had been at ten on the Friday instead of half seven, I would have picked it up in the morning.
If I had put it in the car, which I do about nine times out of ten, none of this happens.
What happens instead is that my wife gets through that dinner somehow, the way she had got through the October, and nobody photographs anything, and six people go home with a story about a pregnant woman who had an episode and had to be helped under the table.
And that story goes on her file. On top of the eleventh of March.
And in January there is a baby, and a woman with a documented history of instability, and a mother-in-law with a key and a notebook and a family who will all say the same thing.
