‘Nobody said that,’ he said, ‘but you’re not well. What do you need? I can bring it up to you.’

Petra looked between them, directing a questioning expression towards Gloria, knowing she was more likely to get an answer from her than from Vincent. ‘I’m alright. Just a bit of asthma,’ she explained in an aside to Petra, then turned to Vincent. ‘I just came down for a cup of tea.’ She filled the kettle and turned it on, then gazed around the half-tidied kitchen. ‘I’ve let the domestic things slip, I know. I did my duty for a long time. Just now I’m… I’ve just lost a bit of interest in it.’

Losing your husband and your granddaughter, selling up the creative business you’d built, would do that to a person, Petra thought. But she didn’t say anything, unsure whether she should admit she knew some of this woman’s painful story.

‘It’s all good, Nan,’ Vincent said.

‘Besides,’ Gloria added, ‘Vincent’s able-bodied, isn’t he?’

Petra and Vincent stood on pause and spoke with their eyes as Gloria added water and squished the teabag around a bit before topping the mug up with milk. Finally, she made her way to the door. ‘It’s nice to have some living people here,’ she smiled as she passed Petra.

Vincent shook his head. ‘Just call down if you need anything else, alright, Nan?’

Petra went back to the sink and washed a couple more dishes in silence as Vincent took a broom to the floor. ‘I’m glad you’re still with us,’ she said at length. This part of the conversation was easier with her back turned. She could imagine any reaction she wanted.

The sweeping stopped. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I didn’t know where you went.’ Petra tried not to sound defensive, kept her tone level, like someone coaxing a frightened child out of a dangerous situation. Drop that knife, sweetie. I’m not angry. ‘It was no one’s fault that we split up at the show. But I was hoping to meet up afterwards. I was hoping you’d text me at least.’

‘I’m sorry, I… I lost my phone for a while and I didn’t have your number.’

‘You found it again? Your phone.’ Scrubbing hard at a caked-on smear of egg and ketchup.

‘Yeah. When you say it like that, it sounds like a lame excuse. I see that.’

‘I honestly don’t want to make an issue of this, but I was scared. I didn’t know if you were in trouble or something. And that show – it freaked me out. It frightened me. I could have done with…’ Debriefing. Last week, another life, she might have said it. ‘You could have at least called. Once you found your phone again, I mean.’

‘I didn’t have your number, I swear. All my contacts were gone.’

She wanted to drop it, but couldn’t let his lying slide. Mainly because he was doing such a fucking bad job of it. She turned, and enunciated, ‘But how did you text me tonight, then?’