Usually, when the “hounds of drink” dragged Ba to the dark place, he wouldn’t speak for days. But after Mum died, he stopped not only speaking, but listening. Ba tried so hard, but like all visionaries, the world was set against him. I hope his next life in Chinese heaven is easier.

“You laid him by Mum?”

I shook my head. “Her parents wouldn’t allow it. But I found him a spot at East London Cemetery.”

Jamie snorts. He shifts, and I can feel his eyes worrying me. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Every night I dream that Ba’s in trouble. It doesn’t make sense. He should’ve already moved on to the next life. He’s trying to communicate something. Something to do with you.”

He scoffs, and I feel something close in my face, like a door on a traveling salesman.

I stick a foot in the door. “See, you’re in the dreams, too. But you never help him. You’re always staring into space.”

With another scoff, he points his nose up.

“Exactly like that.” I poke his nose, and he jerks away.

“What are you doing in these dreams?”

“Trying to help him. But it’s not me he needs. It’s you. Whatever you’re miffed about, you need to forgive him.”

He shifts, causing the planks to groan. “He never asked for forgiveness when he was alive. Why care now?”

I lean against his shoulder, which gives as much as a steel post. “Because he’s stuck.”

Jamie clamps his eyes as if to shut out my words. “She wasn’t even a week in the grave when he pawned her wedding ring and used it on gargle juice.” I wince at Ba’s euphemism for his cheap gin.

“That’s what you’re on about? He needed the money to pay off our debts. Remember the bee farm?”

“How could I forget?” he mutters, nudging my head off his shoulder. “Sometimes you can’t forgive because it cheapens the people you love.”

“But Mum would want you to. ‘Don’t spend too long looking behind you, or you’ll miss out on what’s ahead.’ Remember?”

“No way, Val. Don’t ask me again.”

A bitterness has crept into his voice that I don’t remember hearing before. Jamie seems to have grown heavier, and not just from his new coal-shoveling muscles.

We were still grieving over Mum when he left, and I hoped the boiler rooms would at least give him a place away from the memories to heal. But perhaps down there, without enough air to vent them away, his troubles only compounded.

I decide to let it go for now. I’ll keep tugging little by little, and like the boats that coaxed the Titanic to sea, eventually I’ll get Jamie to budge. There are more time-sensitive matters that need solving, matters that require Jamie and me to be on good terms.