Helga kneels down by his desk, her knees cracking, and she takes his crayons and a clean bit of paper.

‘I had a boat,’ she tells him. ‘Sheelagh. She had a big mainsail like this.’

She draws the yacht, talking about the wheelhouse, junk sails and how the spinnaker was the devil to reel in. The little boy still doesn’t speak, but listens intently, watching her crayon over the paper as she describes her days at sea.

‘Why don’t you try and draw Sheelagh,’ she tells him now. She gives him the crayon and he tries to copy what she’s done. Whilst he’s concentrating, she cocks her head, seeing his earnest expression, the tip of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth. She quietly takes a clean piece of paper and sketches him.

In fact, they’re both so absorbed that she jumps when the door opens with a key. A woman bustles in. She looks flustered and stressed. This must be Will’s mum. She’s wearing a stylish trench coat and has white cropped hair.

‘Josh?’ she cries out. ‘Josh. Are you OK? I came as quickly as I could.’ She runs into the kitchen and puts the sopping umbrella in the sink. ‘Oh, baby.’ Josh drops the crayon on the floor and runs into her arms.

Helga gets up from the floor, her knees aching. She leaves the picture of Josh and holds on to the unit, her head suddenly spinning.

‘You must be the neighbour,’ Will’s mum says.

‘Helga. Yes.’

‘I’m Judith. Thank you for watching him. Bloody trains. It was a nightmare. But I’m here now.’

Helga nods and tries to walk to the door, but she’s gone stiff. ‘Are you all right? You’re shivering.’

‘I swam in the sea earlier,’ she tells Judith.

‘In the sea?’ Judith looks at her as if she hasn’t heard right.

Helga nods. ‘I try and go most days.’

‘That’s so impressive.’

‘I haven’t warmed up yet. That’s all.’

She leaves Judith with Josh. At the door she turns and watches her cuddle the small boy on her lap. She’s tactile and confident and Helga feels an unfamiliar wave of envy.

‘Goodbye, Josh,’ she says, sad at how redundant she feels.

Judith gives her a quick, dismissive smile and Helga says she’ll see herself out.

She walks back to her cottage and closes the door, thinking of how Judith’s life is so different to hers. She’s only got her pride to blame, she tells herself. She could have made different choices. She could have had a family. She could have a loving grandchild too, but instead she’s alone. And she’s always been fine about being alone, she reminds herself. Militantly so. But now, as the rain splatters against the glass in the conservatory, she feels uncharacteristically all at sea.

22

Date Night

Matteo is leaning against his doorframe, looking up at the drip that’s coming through the ceiling of their communal hallway.

‘It’s just relentless,’ Maddy says, positioning the saucepan from the Airbnb’s kitchen under the drip. ‘And this is going to be like water torture.’