‘Oh, I don’t know, Mum. To be kind. To help, maybe? She’s on her own. I was being nice.’ Mum thins her lips. I’m unsure if it’s because of what I’ve just told her, or the fact I’ve just put my empty plate on the floor. I remedy problem two by taking it through to the kitchen, raising my voice so she can still hear me. ‘Our David liked her. I thought it would be a good thing to do.’ I step back into the lounge. ‘And, well… there’s something about her.’

Mum looks at me, her head cocked to one side in a mixture of confusion and dismay.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Nothing, son. Nothing at all.’

‘What?’ I sigh, fully aware that nothing at all means exactly the opposite.

‘Nothing, honestly. It’s not my business, you’re a grown man. You can do what you like…’ she adjusts her tabard. ‘I just think it’s a bit…’

‘Spit it out, Mum.’

‘It’s no surprise you want to help someone apparently in her position, what with David doing…’ She swallows the words we don’t speak to each other. ‘What with our David, I get why you’d want to help someone who tried the same thing but…’‘It’s not that,’ I say, aware I can’t pull the wool over her eyes. I get up, ignoring the weather, and open the doors to her garden. Mum purses her lips tighter; a look of disapproval well practised over years of parenting two boys.

‘I couldn’t just leave her, could I?’ I say, but Mum’s expression doesn’t change. ‘What if it had been you? What if I wasn’t around either and you were on your own?’ She narrows her eyes, I rub my face. ‘Wouldn’t you want someone to give a shit?’

‘You are around, so it’s a non-question. And don’t we pay our stamp for the NHS to give a shit?’

‘They do, that’s why they called me.’ Next door’s dog barks and someone, somewhere, mimics it.

‘Why did they call you? Did you find that out?’

‘I told you, she had my number in her bag. It was the only number they could find. They took a chance, and you know what? I’m glad they did.’ ‘Right,’ she said. ‘That tells me then.’ She lifts her tabard over her head, folding it up and placing it down beside her.

‘Didn’t you want something?’ I ask, locking eyes with her to force a change of subject. Our silence is perforated by the sound of a neighbour arguing. Anger, shrieks and swearing leak out of an open window, each word finding its way to us through the open patio door.

‘See,’ says Mum, to prove her earlier point about open doors and privacy. She gets up to close them. Scutinising the carpet for evidence of rain damage.

‘So, what is it?’ I ask.

‘Well, I don’t know if I want to discuss it now, to be honest.’

I groan, irritated by the sudden arrival of her stubborn side. ‘Maybe I should just go then, eh.’