She asked him in before he had a chance to say who he was or what he wanted. As she led him into the dusty, cluttered lounge she talked without stopping about the weather. There must have been more than a dozen photographs in the room. There were out-of-focus shots of the marsh and of birds in the hand, pictures of her children and grandchildren, family groups, but in the most prominent position one of herself as a young girl, with a shy, provocative smile. She formed the same smile as she asked her visitor to sit down. He moved a pile of women’s magazines from a chair and sat uncomfortably.

“I’m a friend of your son, Bernard,” George said. He had to interrupt a string of excuses for the untidiness of the room to speak. “I’m a birdwatcher too.”

She smiled a vacant, benevolent smile, said, “That’s nice,” and carried on the train of her conversation.

George tried again.

“I saw a rare bird on the marsh, one morning a couple of weeks back. It was on a Saturday, and I wondered if perhaps he’d seen it. It was the day when I understand you had an accident. I thought perhaps you could tell me if he was out on the marsh that day.”

It never occurred to her to wonder how he knew about her accident or why he had not been in touch with Bernard before. She enjoyed talking about the accident. The whole story seemed very exaggerated. She answered George’s questions quite promptly. It seemed that she could carry on a sensible conversation if the subject was herself.

“It was lucky that Jack Benn was just outside when you needed help,” George said. “ I believe he went to get the doctor for you. I suppose that Bernard stayed with you while you waited for the doctor to arrive.”

“Oh yes!” she said. “ He couldn’t leave me. I was in agony, in terrible pain. And I was feeling a wee bit peckish by then, so he made us both some breakfast. I think he was cross because he wanted to be out on the marsh. Birdwatching seems to be such a silly habit for a grown man.”

She gasped in mock horror, put her hand to her mouth and giggled coquettishly.

“Oh naughty me,” she simpered. “ I’d forgotten that you were a birdwatcher too. What must you think of me!”

He ignored this and asked:

“What happened when the doctor came?”

She looked sulky. She obviously did not like the doctor.

“He’s such a rude man. He hardly stayed any time at all, and he wouldn’t give me anything for the terrible pain except aspirin. And then Bernard went out and left me all by myself, and I didn’t see anyone else until lunchtime when Mrs. Simpson popped in. At times Bernard can be so thoughtless. He’s changed so much since he was a boy.”

“Do you know what time Bernard went out?” George asked.