‘Oh, yes! The record shop. I picked up some Beethoven. And that’s when he said it.’

I lean against the chair and shut my eyes to savour the sweetness of it before releasing it.

‘It’s not even Beethoven who’s playing on it.’

We sink into silence. I sink into Grace.

‘Grace liked him though.’

‘Grace liked everyone,’ he says, smiling. ‘Xand, I’m sorry about, you know,’ he says slowly, feeling his way. ‘What happened, I mean. I should have been there.’

I wave his apology away with a smile. ‘I know, Seb. But I didn’t need you to be there. I was okay. People go through break-ups, separations.’

‘But you went through more than most people. With the – bereavement.’

I stop him with my palm out. Not Rory, I can’t talk about him. All those wheels have turned and ground what they needed to grind.

‘I can’t pretend none of it happened. But time moves in one direction, Seb. I can’t think about this now. It doesn’t serve anything.’

He nods sadly.

‘You know we went looking for you a couple of weeks after the funeral. A bunch of us. You’d been spotted up near the Horniman.’

This news takes me by surprise.

‘Why?’ I say.

‘Because you went missing, Xander. We were worried,’ he says and even now, what must be thirty years on, his brow softens in concern.

‘I didn’t go missing,’ I say. ‘I just decided I needed a break.’

‘A break? You became homeless. No, not home-less. You became a homeless person.’

The criticism lying in those words is given life so that I can’t ignore it.

‘I didn’t become a homeless person, you judgemental—’ I bring myself up short. There is anger swelling that I have to keep from flowing over.

‘I left my house,’ I say calmly. ‘I left some bricks and mortar. That’s all. I didn’t need it. Or any of the stuff,’ I add, looking around.

‘But you need it now, don’t you?’ he says. His tone isn’t unpleasant. It’s enquiring. Soft. But my hackles are up.

‘Really?’ I say. ‘I don’t think this is a good idea after all.’ I get up. Before I have made it fully to my feet, I feel his hand on my arm.

‘No. I didn’t mean that,’ he says, looking up at me. ‘I just meant. If anything, I meant to say that I was sorry. And you should stay here. As long as you need to. And I know you’ll be wondering about the Bens,’ he continues.

That word Bens was something he said before and I didn’t know then what he meant. ‘What are you talking about?’ I say. My temples send signals that they are being squeezed in a vice and I groan as the pain washes over me.