I pour May’s tea but she doesn’t want to talk. She’s watching a bird at the window. The first time I’ve seen one using the feeder Alison put up. It’s perching there on the clear plastic, attached to the window with transparent suction cups. Almost like it’s trying to get in. A brown bird pecking away. I wish I knew its name.

‘Five for silver, six for gold,’ she says, then shakes her head as if to make the rest of the words come loose, ‘no. That’s not right at all.’

And then the visitors are signing in at the reception desk. May’s daughter and someone else with her. A teenager. Maybe older. I’ve never seen him here before. He’s too thin. Cheekbones like blades under his skin. Hair hidden under a black hat. Almost. Red hair. Hair like fire. And I say it without thinking because it seems so obvious.

‘He’s here, May. The boy. He’s come to see you.’

She sits up and squints towards reception as he gets nearer. Her face so full of hope. I smile at him but he looks away. He has his hands in his pockets. And then May is banging her hand down on the armrest. The teacups rattling again.

‘That’s not him at all,’ she says. ‘He was never that big. They’re always lying to me. They want to pretend he’s not lost.’

‘Calm down, Mum,’ the daughter says. And the boy has his arms folded now, backing into the corner like he wants to disappear. But May is only getting more unsettled, her voice getting louder and louder. She puts her hands over her ears and starts singing again.

In the flat I watch Ewan shove a forkful of pasta into his mouth. It’s the kind of food Mum used to make on weeknights when Baba was out checking his houses, collecting deposit money from the endless stream of new tenants. The TV is on. National news. Some village down south that’s been flooded. A man canoeing past a Post Office. Ewan eats with his mouth slightly open, blowing air through the food to cool it down, eventually taking a sip of drink and swallowing it all down together.

‘Hot,’ he says, ‘you not eating?’

‘Yeah, I’m just tired.’

‘Good news today.’

‘Oh?’

‘Phil handed in his notice.’

‘Oh?’

‘You know, Mr Mellor – head of Humanities?’

‘I remember.’

‘So – they’re hoping to fill his place internally. Sally gave me the nod. Unofficially of course, but if I get it –’

‘That’s great, Ewan.’

‘If I get it then it might be time to make some decisions.’

‘Decisions?’

‘About your work. You hate it, and I’ll be earning more,’ he pauses and puts his fork down, ‘you could get a part time job in town and… you know…’

‘What?’

He just looks at me.