‘Yes,’ she said then. ‘That’s true, I do know it’s important. I know he is. I’m going to call him now.’

‘Good idea.’

‘Thanks, Sadie.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I said.

The next day was Saturday. I moved the furniture around in Jack’s bedroom and hoovered in the corners before pushing everything back into place again, and I pinned up the corners of his curling bird posters, and dusted the books and encylopaedias. In the evening I went to the cinema with Caz and Graham, and we came back and ate a late last scratch supper in their old kitchen. All the china ornaments including the painted cat had been taken off the shelves and packed in boxes, and there were dark rectangles on the walls where pictures that were so familiar that no one ever spared them a glance had once hung. They were moving out in three days’ time and they were both tetchy with the strain of it. Everything was changing.

On Sunday afternoon I drove over to school to collect Jack. I hung around with the other parents for the inevitable half-hour before the delayed buses finally turned the corner. The previous week’s scenes reversed themselves as shouting children poured down the steps and struggled round the piles of luggage. Jack was one of the last to emerge. I skipped through the crowd and put my arms round him. He wriggled away after the briefest submission to my hug and a just discernible returned pressure.

‘Did you have a good time?’

‘It was okay.’

The other families were dispersing with their chattering kids. I carried Jack’s holdall back to where I had parked the car. I didn’t see Mr Rainbird anywhere.

Back at home, Jack glared at his sparkling bedroom. ‘It’s all moved around in here.’

‘I had a clean-up. I didn’t throw anything out or anything, I just dusted.’

He whirled round to face me. ‘Don’t touch my stuff.’

‘Jack.’

‘I don’t want you fiddling with my things. This is my room and you should leave it alone.’

I closed the door, although of course there was no one else in the house to overhear anything. ‘Let’s talk about this.’

‘No.’ He had already taken his binoculars out of his backpack. He unbuttoned the leather case and rubbed his thumb over one of the knurled screws with his eyes fixed longingly on the window. He wanted to resume his study of the pigeons and not to have a confrontation with me. I sat down on the bed and let a minute of silence tick away while Jack fiddled with the binoculars and birds sat on the roof ridge opposite like a feathered jury.