‘I know I did.’ She watches her twelve-year-old for a moment and then turns away.

Ben shrugs and I open my arms to pull him in for a hug. ‘Your mum worries about you, that’s all,’ I murmur in his ear. ‘She doesn’t want you getting hurt.’

‘And it’s expensive,’ Bonnie says, ‘on top of everything else.’

I roll my eyes at Ben who grins. ‘I swear you’ve grown again,’ I tell him. ‘You’re nearly as tall as me.’

‘Yes, but you’re short, Aunt Stella.’

‘Hey,’ I laugh. ‘Five five is not short.’ He has always joked about my height, though compared to Bonnie, who’s at least four inches taller than me, I often feel tiny.

‘Mum,’ he says, ‘can you take me to Charlie’s? It’s raining.’

‘No way. That’s why we bought your bike. He’s only around the corner, and besides, I have your aunt here.’

‘I don’t mind—’ I start.

‘Uh-uh. He has transportation. And legs.’

‘Fine. See you later, Aunt Stella.’ Ben gives a wave and he’s gone.

‘He’s such a handsome boy,’ I say when the front door closes behind him. ‘They both are.’

‘I know.’ Bonnie pauses, watching the space he has left before turning to fumble in cupboards for tea bags and mugs. ‘I dread the day they bring home girlfriends.’

I pull out a chair at the table as Bonnie finishes making tea. ‘There’s no more news about the body,’ I say.

For a moment she doesn’t answer, and I wait for her to change the subject as she often does. ‘Did you call Dad?’ she says.

I shake my head. ‘Not yet. Don’t you ever want to see him, Bon?’ I ask. ‘Don’t you miss him?’

Bonnie screws up her mouth and looks away. ‘I wasn’t as close to him as you were.’

‘That’s not what I’m asking, and you were still close.’

‘Neither of them had much time for me.’ She brushes her hands flat across the work surface.

‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say. You used to tell me the opposite was true,’ I remind her, thinking back to the rare times she’d opened up.

‘That was in the early years when they were always trying to fix me,’ she says. ‘At some point they gave up. Probably when you came along,’ she adds. ‘I’m joking.’ She peers at me over the rim of her mug. ‘Anyway, they loved you the most, anyone could see that.’

‘Bonnie, that’s just not true.’

‘It is.’ She scrapes her chair back sharply. ‘And I’m long past caring. I’ll get lunch ready. It’s only soup.’

‘That sounds great,’ I say, wondering why she couldn’t have rescheduled if she hadn’t gone to much effort. ‘Where’s Harry?’ I ask.