I did know that Jack was still a regular visitor to Turnmill Street. Sometimes he went there after school and stayed until supper time, or else he called in on weekend afternoons and fed the animals for Audrey and then sat with Jack the cat on his lap to watch television. I found tell-tale tufts of the creature’s fur on his trousers and sweatshirts. He answered truthfully when I asked where he had been, but he didn’t volunteer information. And in my turn I didn’t press him, or demand that he came home in time to do his homework. He was going to school every day and not complaining too much about it either. The brief interest in him shown by Wes and Jason and the other cool ones hadn’t led to a friendship, of course, but on the other hand my son didn’t any longer seem quite such an isolated figure. He reported that there was a boy in his new class who wanted to be a naturalist.

Paul and I hadn’t spent the night together since Jack came home from Turnmill Street. I wished he would stay tonight, so that we could have one more drink among the remaining dirty glasses and coffee cups, and do a post-mortem on the evening before going upstairs to bed.

Jack splayed the fingers of one hand on the breadboard and with the other picked up the knife that Mel had used to slice the cake. Still frowning, he began gouging the point of the knife into the sliver of wood showing between his knuckles. Slowly, at first, then faster.

‘Jack. Stop that. You’ll chop your finger off.’

The knife’s serrated tip stuck in the board and he let go, leaving it standing upright. He removed his hand just in time before it toppled sideways, blade down. I retrieved the knife and put it aside.

‘She doesn’t get invited out very much. Not at all, in fact.’

I sighed, recalling my own pleasure in this evening. ‘I know. You’re right. I’ll go and see her soon, and ask her to come and have dinner with us.’

Jack was leaning up against the counter now, blocking off the sink and the kitchen bin. He always picked the most inconvenient moments for his obliquely telling questions. I edged him sideways so that Caz could reach the sink but without losing eye contact with him. ‘Mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know you’ve sold Grandad’s house?’

The sale had been completed in the previous week and the money was in my bank. ‘Mm.’

‘And some of the money’s supposed to be mine?’

‘That’s right. A quarter of it.’ I planned to put it in a special account for when he went to university, or wanted to travel to somewhere remote to look at particularly desirable birds.