Beatriz cocked her head, wondering what it was that had brought the girl to this standstill. When Ali was working in that room above there was always music, and until perhaps fifteen minutes ago, there had been: the ‘boom-boom’ beat of the kind of songs Beatriz only tolerated and Ali dearly loved, thrumming down through the floor, just as usual; then, abruptly, nothing. Quarter of an hour of silence. Not so very long, really, but Beatriz remembered this phenomenon from other times over the years, when the onset of deep quiet from the study had proved to be a portent of sorrow, an unwelcome nudge from Ali’s clouded, untold past, appearing like a fault line in the perfect surface of her everyday happiness. She was a storyteller, thought Beatriz, but Ali Connor kept her own tales to herself.

‘Ali, my girl,’ Beatriz called, cupping a hand to her mouth to send her voice up through the ceiling.

Nothing.

‘Ali?’

Nothing.

This, undoubtedly, was a cause for concern. Beatriz hauled herself off the stool and rubbed her left hip – a reflex action as much as a remedy – as she walked carefully to the foot of the staircase, where she saw that Ali was in fact at the top, on her way down, popping her earphones in, her iPod tucked into the band on her arm. She was wearing shorts and a vest, and had a faded Crows cap jammed on her head and trainers in her hand. Beatriz tutted, immediately reassured, immediately displeased. The girl needed more meat on her bones, not less.

Ali smiled and said, ‘Oh hey, Beatriz,’ pulling the buds from her ears, ‘you OK?’ and Beatriz just folded her arms, her habitual outward sign of disapproval.

‘I’m word blind,’ Ali said. ‘Stuck in a rut. Thought I’d jog it out.’

‘Running, running, running,’ Beatriz said, rolling her eyes, ‘all that toil for nothing at all,’ but Ali just shrugged and said, as she always did, ‘I like it, it helps me think. I won’t be long.’ Ali sat down on the bottom step to put her trainers on. ‘How’s that hip?’ she said.

Beatriz rubbed her bones and heaved a sigh. ‘Can’t complain,’ she said mournfully. ‘Not at the great age I am.’

‘Michael says with a new hip you could come running with me.’

Beatriz blew a short, sceptical puff of breath. ‘You’d never find me chasing my own shadow in the parklands.’

Ali stood up and gave Beatriz a kiss on the cheek. ‘See you later then,’ she said.

‘You be careful,’ Beatriz said. ‘It’s hot enough to cook eggs in that sun.’

Ali patted her hat. ‘Precautions taken,’ she said.

‘And mind those horses,’ Beatriz said. ‘Kick from a horse, you’ll know about it.’