It was late one Sunday morning, Leonard was out walking, and Andrew and Sylvie were sitting in the Morrow kitchen. A packet of shortbread was open on the table, along with a pot of brewed coffee — a surprising but welcome change, Andrew thought, from the powdered stuff his mother usually served.

‘I can’t believe the intruder is the sole explanation,’ Andrew said, helping himself to another biscuit. ‘Something’s wrong.’ He paused, and when he spoke again it was an unambiguous plea. ‘Would you speak to her? Galya sees you as a mother figure, a confidante. My position’s far more muddy.’

Sylvie smiled. ‘I think that’s muddying the obvious.’

Were his feelings so transparent? And were they to Galina? Not that this was his major concern at the moment. ‘Will you speak with her? Please.’

He realised even as he spoke, that requesting his mother’s help in this, or indeed anything, reinforced rather than loosened her entrenched over-protectiveness. But he was desperate.

However, Sylvie, much to his surprise, was not stepping forward.

‘Galya’s been through so much these past few years. Then just as she’s settled into her new life, an intruder breaks in.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe that’s the entire explanation. And if it’s not, I’m prepared to wait until she’s ready to open up. But if you want some answers now, then it’s up to you to approach her.’

His mother was right, he knew this even while he was asking her to do his work for him.

‘Just make up your mind and do it,’ Sylvie said. ‘Do it today. When you leave here, don’t go home, go straight to her place.’

He nodded. He would. The decision was made, so no need to dwell on it, and, checking the time, no need to worry about it just yet. He poured the remains of the coffee pot into his mug and took a sip. It was cold, and he pushed it away.

‘So what have you been up to?’ he asked his mother.

‘Oh, just the usual,’ Sylvie said.

She carried the coffee pot to the sink. With meticulous attention, she rinsed out the grains and prepared a fresh pot. She kept her back turned to her son. Unlike Galina, her face was all-too-readable.

Just the usual, said with polished ease.