Moni cooked and ate by herself. She looked out of the window at the rain that again kept her away from the boy. It did not keep him away though and on hearing a knock at the door, she found him, to her delight, wearing a bright blue anorak with a hood and wellington boots. She fussed over him. ‘Adam, are you hungry? What shall I make you?’ He opened the fridge and took out the carton of eggs. She made him an omelette with feta cheese. ‘You must have been hungry,’ she said, as he wolfed down the food. ‘You need to eat to grow. I can almost see you growing right before my eyes!’ It was an expression, an exaggeration, but it did seem to her that he was bigger since the first day she had seen him. Not older, but bigger in size. It was a strange observation. As children grew older, they became leaner to some extent, losing their baby roundness. He, though, just seemed to be getting bigger, his cheeks chubbier than ever, his chin soft. She must be imagining things.

‘Have you never had a feta cheese omelette before? Do you like it?’ He shook his head and then nodded. She was used to the fact that he didn’t talk or couldn’t talk. He did make sounds, though, a high ah of surprise and pleasure, a frustrated growl when he stood on the kitchen chair and couldn’t reach the top shelf of the cupboard. There was a kite stored there; it had caught his attention and he wanted it.

‘Not on such a gloomy day,’ she said. ‘You need good weather for a kite. You also need your father to take you out. I would not be of any use to you flying a kite. I’m sorry but I know nothing about kites.’

When he climbed down from the chair, he gave her a hug. ‘You are a lovely boy,’ she told him. ‘The cleverest, nicest boy.’

His eyes, brown and full of expression, kept her captivated. They baked together. After getting him to wash his hands, which he did while making the most comical of faces, he shaped cookies and afterwards decorated them. He was clumsy with these tasks and she enjoyed instructing him on how to keep his hands steady, how to move without spilling. When he concentrated, he opened his mouth. It made her laugh.

In Lady Evelyn’s book, she showed him photos of Toby Sladen, Lady Evelyn’s grandson. ‘Look, here he’s the same age as you are now. His shoes are funny! But that’s how little boys dressed in 1922. Every school holiday he would spend with his grandmother on her estate. He must have loved it – all the fishing and exploring – he even went hunting with her too.’