There is an unspoken absence hanging between us.

‘The first thing we’ll do the day I get out of here is pick Herbie up.’

At the mention of the dog’s name his eyes well and he blinks hard.

‘We’re almost there, Tommy. Over halfway. Only five and a bit weeks to go. We can do that, can’t we?’

He walks on ahead of me, shoulders hunched, a silent shrunken old man.

‘Would you like to see some kittens, Tommy?’

His head makes an imperceptible upward-downward movement.

‘Follow me,’ I say as I sweep past him, woman in charge.

When we reach the shed a number of other visiting families are there, cooing over the little ‘fur babies’, as one girl calls them. ‘So cute they make me want to cry.’ Tommy looks unimpressed at her histrionics and seems to want to leave. I push to the front and reach in to lift out the small, inquisitive tabby. ‘Look, Tommy. A marmalade cat.’ His two favourite things rolled into one: animals and orange jam. For a moment he seems to forget his hurt and reaches out to stroke the kitten between her eyes. The episode with the beetle crosses my mind and I’m careful to keep a close watch. The Tommy I left behind would never willingly kill any other living creature, even buzzing bluebottles as they’d bang against the window, crazed. I remember him shooing them out through the opened windows and doors, crying when I squashed one with my thumb. I ooh and ah at the tabby, overcompensating, sensing the other parents staring at me.

‘Would you like to adopt her, Tommy?’

He looks up at me, a tiny glint in his eyes. ‘Would Hewbie like her?’

There. His voice. And it almost melts my bones.

‘Herbie’s such a gentle giant. I’m sure he’d look after her.’

‘Five weeks is long, Yaya.’

‘Yes, darling. Too long. Ask Grandad to bring you next week and the week after and the week after that. Six more visits and then we can go home, with our new friend Marmie.’

He repeats the name: ‘Marmie’. Nods, satisfied that it is a good name. ‘Where is Hewbie, Yaya?’

I think fast. ‘He’s in a lovely house with other dogs and he has made a new friend, a big spotty Dalmatian named Hugh.’

Tommy looks away, an expression of disgust clouding his features. He never liked to be lied to.

‘Yaya?’

‘Yes, darling?’

‘I want to go now.’

I can sense the interest from those around me intensifying, wondering how I’m going to handle this obvious rebuff.

I decide on a magnanimous approach: ‘Of course, sweetie. Let’s go get creamy ice.’

I take the kitten from his hands and place her gently back down among her siblings.

‘I want a kitty too, Mam,’ says the same little girl who said she could cry they were so cute.

Tommy looks at her slyly out of the corner of his eyes. ‘Not ours. You can’t have Marmie.’