‘We’re neighbours. We don’t have to be friends.’

‘Isn’t that a rather sad stance to take?’ Because … really? Doesn’t he care? About the environment? Or about the people around him? She hears the old song from the Neighbours soap in her mind. About everyone needing good neighbours. And good neighbours becoming good friends. ‘Listen, Rob, I don’t want there to be any bad feeling and I wish we could sort this out,’ she says and puts her bags down. ‘For Jenna’s sake,’ she continues. ‘She and I are friends, even if you and I aren’t.’

‘Jenna?’ he says, with a snort. ‘And you? Friends?’

Claire’s cheeks burn at his nasty tone.

‘Friends is pushing it. I think Jenna finds you a bit … creepy. The way you copy her. You know, the same coat and everything.’ Claire is embarrassed to be caught in her Dryrobe coming back from the shops, but she hasn’t changed since her swim. It hadn’t crossed her mind that her robe was the same as Jenna’s, but now her cheeks start pulsing. Nobody has ever said anything so downright rude to her before. Creepy? Has Jenna said that about her?

Is this a lockdown thing? She saw a thing about it on TV about how people are not filtering as much as they used to? Or is it just that Rob is a grade-A gobshite.

She wants desperately to defend herself, to respond with a withering take-down but the words won’t come. Instead, she hurries away, the tears already brimming in her eyes, as she pushes open the side gate and lugs the bags along the tiny strip of path between the side of their house and the fence, easing past the boys’ bikes and the hose that is spilling out of its plastic container by the tap. There’s a tower of empty plastic plant pots from the last time she tried to garden.

A little greenfinch sits on the cherry branch. Since meeting Helga and learning about birds, Claire’s noticing them everywhere, but particularly on the cherry tree. The little bird has green-gold feathers and a pink beak and there’s a moment as they stare at one another. Then it flies across the garden.

Claire listens to the birdsong that fills the air. They sound like kids in a school playground at break time.

She tries to let the sound calm her and obliterate Rob’s horrible words, but she’s shaking as she opens the back door.

Pim is scrolling through his phone, but when he sees her he rushes over to help her with the bags.

‘I’d have got those. They look heavy. Damn. They are heavy. What have you got?’

‘Flour and sugar, mainly. And jam. And please, don’t start. It’s all on offer. And for Tor’s charity,’ Claire stands up and shakes out her hands. They hurt from where the handles have dug in and she’s still not properly warm from the swim this morning. She’s shivering, she realises. With cold? Humiliation? Or possibly both.