She followed him out into the well-tended, high-walled garden at the back of the house. ‘Your father went to confession. He sought absolution. He was forgiven. You are such a drama queen. You’re looking for attention now, just as you were then.’

Heath approached a large metal refuse bin, throwing the lid aside and stamping down on it, before turning the bin upside down, shaking it until empty. ‘Oh, I know he made a confession, Mother. Because that’s what good Catholics do. But it didn’t stop him. He did it again. He always did it again.’

‘Can’t I keep the sheets, Henry? Or maybe a pillow, just one pillow. The scent is all I have left of the man. It still means so much to me.’

‘No! A thousand times, no!’

‘You can be so very cruel sometimes, so inconsiderate, such a bad son.’

‘Look on, Mother. Watch them burn.’ Heath stuffed the bedclothes into the metal receptacle, lifting a leg high and then stamping them down. He unscrewed the white plastic top from the turps bottle, and then poured the entire contents over the bedding, dousing it before striking a match, carefully shielding the flickering yellow flame with a cupped hand. Heath danced in a tight circle, smiling as the flames burst into enthusiastic life, sending plumes of black, acrid smoke spiralling high into the warm summer air.

‘Now, are you happy? Are you pleased with yourself, Henry? Was there really a need to upset me like that?’

‘Please be quiet, Mother. You’ve said enough.’

She looked around her, jabbing a bony digit at one window or another without the need for words.

Heath was suddenly acutely aware of the various overlooking houses. He imagined neighbours looking down at him, watching, non-existent curtain-twitchers suspicious of his actions, attempting to read his thoughts. He stood watching the dancing flames, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, willing the roaring fire to consume the contents of the bin and the memories they engendered as quickly as feasibly possible.

‘Think things through before acting, you ridiculous boy. People will see exactly what you’re doing. They’ll stick their noses in. Interfere in your business. Look around you, Henry. They’re watching you right now.’

Heath placed the lid back on the bin, starving the fire of oxygen. He hurried back towards the kitchen door, speaking without looking back. ‘Be quiet, Mother, shut your mouth and keep it shut. You’ve already disrupted my plans more than enough for one day. There are things I need to do before the bitch mother returns to the house. Because she will, she definitely will. And when she does, I’ll have something waiting for her. Not a nice surprise, but definitely a surprise. Something which will tear her heart to pieces.’

‘Get on with it, Henry, whatever it is, there’s a good lad. If your plans are delayed, that’s your fault, not mine. You’ve got no-one to blame but yourself.’

He chose to ignore her latest put down as he opened the cutlery drawer next to the gas cooker, taking out a pair of all-purpose scissors, the same ones he’d used to trim the wig. He ran the cutting edges across a finger. Surely it was sharp enough. He held up his finger and licked it, as a small drop of blood oozed from his cut.