He doesn’t say anything else for a bit, then, “I think . . . I think I’m going to go away for a while. I can’t stay in this place anymore.”

“I see,” she says.

“I wondered . . .”

“Do come on, Oscar,” she snaps, “spit it out.” She has never spoken to him like that before. It’s as though, with Edna gone, Lily has to fill in for her, become the authoritarian.

He looks shocked but recovers enough to ask, “It’s just, I’m a bit short . . . I wondered if . . . ?”

So it’s money he’s after. She pretends to consider it for a moment. “I don’t think so, dear,” she says, and looks across at the sun lounger. “I don’t think Edna would approve. Perhaps Michael could help out in some way?”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Well,” she says. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll get by.”

He stares at her sullenly, the way he used to when he wanted his own way on something. But it won’t wash this time. Lily glances at Edna where she swings on the phantom sun lounger. She’s sure now; there’s just no conceivable way Edna could have managed the furniture on her own, and she wouldn’t have asked a stranger for help. Edna smiles and nods at her. I already have a good idea who might be . . . she’d started to say before Lily cut her off. Then what had she done? Rung that person perhaps? Asked him to come see her?

“Where will you go?” she asks. “Overseas, I imagine?”

“Yeah. I dunno yet; I might travel for a bit. I guess I’ll let you know where I end up. Maybe you could visit.”

“Oh, I don’t travel well, dear. And anyway, there’s Edna to think about.”

“Lily,” he says, “Edna is gone.”

“Yes.” Her eyes stray to the sun lounger again. “You won’t go until after the funeral, though, will you?”

He hesitates. “No, of course not.” He gets up. “I should be getting back.”

“All right, dear.”

He kisses her goodbye. His breath is fetid and stale. She walks him to the front gate. He pauses for a moment, and she thinks he’s going to ask her about the whole business again. This time she will tell everything she can. Everything she remembers. No more lies and half-truths and obfuscations. In return she will demand the truth from him as well. Instead he says, “You’re sure I can’t help with anything?”

“No, dear,” she says, “I think you’ve done more than enough, don’t you?”

She watches him walk away from her down the path, no longer the little boy she once loved. He has grown overnight into a tall, grubby stranger.