Mary smiled. ‘I just don’t know if she’s the most responsible person to leave taking care of a child. She doesn’t seem quite … with it?’

‘She’s ditzy all right.’

‘No, it’s more than that. Sometimes I wonder if she’s on something.’

‘On something?’ Della’s eyes widened. ‘Do you mean drugs?’

‘Maybe. I could be wrong. Perhaps she’s just a little odd.’

‘Speaking of odd’ – Della did an exaggerated double-take – ‘is that Gavin Bowman mowing your lawn?’

‘Yes. Robbie arranged it as some kind of lead-in to doing work experience at his office. I’m not sure he knows what he’s doing though. He doesn’t look as though he’s ever used a lawn mower before.’

‘Do him no harm at all – that boy could do with a dose of honest, hard work. I reckon Robbie was absolutely right,’ Della said, sounding not unlike Ruth Cavanagh.

Gavin’s inexperience with gardening became more than apparent half an hour later when he tripped over the hedge trimmer cable and landed in a bramble bush. Lily came inside to tell Mary, with a scratched and bruised Gavin following behind.

‘Oh, goodness! Let me get some ointment and some gauze.’ Mary reached for the first-aid box, and set about cleaning Gavin’s scratches. He sat silently on a kitchen chair, his arm resting on the table, watching as she dabbed and cleaned. After a while, Mary, although not given to chatter, began to feel awkward. Even when Lily made a cup of pretend tea for Gavin, he took it wordlessly, never taking his eyes off Mary’s hands.

‘Now!’ she said brightly, as soon as she was done. ‘I think you’re good to go.’

He stood, lightly touching the Band-Aids on his arm, and looked up at her.

‘I’ll come back tomorrow to do some more,’ he said.

‘There’s really no need. I think maybe your gardening days are done. I’ll explain to Robbie.’

‘I’ll be here.’ That was all he said, before turning and leaving through the back door.

He came back the following day, and the day after, and the day after that. And each afternoon, he found a reason to come inside the house – a glass of water, a splinter in his thumb, a request to wash his hands. Lily made pretend tea for him whenever he came in, and each time, he took it without saying a word.

‘He’s in the kitchen more often than he’s in the garden,’ Mary confided in Della, towards the end of the week. ‘I’d rather he stayed outdoors, but how do I say that?’

‘You just say it,’ was Della’s response. ‘Be direct. You’re too nice, that’s your problem. I bet while in your head you’re wishing he’d leave, on the outside, you’re smiling and welcoming and filling his glass. Am I right?’

She was right. But it was awkward. ‘Be direct’, as Mary knew, after five years of marriage to Robbie, was easier said than done.

15

June 2018

‘JUST THINKING, YOU HAVE therapy tonight, don’t you?’ Mark says when he arrives in from work on Tuesday evening. ‘Maybe you could bring up Lily Murphy with Dr Kinsella and try to exorcise some ghosts?’