‘Wet,’ I grumble, trying to grab Harry and dry him off before he shakes everywhere. Not that it would make much of a difference, considering the mess. ‘How’s the tea?’

‘Wet,’ he says, putting down his mug and handing me a towel from the hook in the corner.

‘Thank you.’ I smile gratefully and feel guilty for being grumpy. Crouching down, I begin drying off Harry.

‘Oh, by the way, I believe this is yours.’

I look up to see Ben pulling something out of his pocket. It’s a green tennis ball, although less green and more muddy-coloured.

‘Well, Harry’s.’

I frown. ‘Where did you find that?’

‘The snowman didn’t have much use for it any more.’ He raises his eyebrows, a faint air of amusement playing on his lips. ‘Stanley thought Harry might want it back.’

I look at him in surprise. ‘You know Stanley?’

‘I’m his dad.’

‘Stanley’s your son?’

‘Well, that’s how it usually works.’

I colour.

‘Stanley has been talking about it being Harry’s ball, and I finally put two and two together. Took me a while. Like I said, I didn’t get your brains.’ Ben grins and I smile, though mostly out of embarrassment.

‘We see him on our walks . . . I didn’t realize that was your house.’

‘Well, no – you never wanted to go for that catch-up, did you?’

Reminded, I shift awkwardly.

‘He’s a lovely little boy,’ I say, changing the subject.

‘Thanks.’ He gives a small nod of pride. ‘He loves Harry – Stanley talks about him all the time.’

‘The feeling’s mutual. Harry loves him. They hit it off right away.’

Ben smiles. ‘Stanley seems to find it easier to connect with animals than with humans. We did think about getting a dog after . . . well, everything, but it’s a lot and I’m out at work all day.’

‘Stanley can come on a walk with me if he likes. Have a play-date.’

‘Thanks, but Stanley doesn’t do play-dates.’

‘Not even with his friends?’

Ben sighs and looks down at his mug of tea. His hands are covered in dust and dirt and he rubs his wedding band with his thumb, making the gold shine. ‘Well, that’s the thing: he doesn’t have any friends.’

There’s a beat and he falls silent. I can see this is difficult for him. I can hear the other builders banging and clattering, erecting the scaffolding that’s going up to the roof, but inside the house there’s a stillness.

‘Kids at school think he’s strange. Stanley’s special – he has his little ways. When he was born we could tell he was different from other friends’ babies; his speech was delayed, and he would get fixated by things . . . I remember him sitting for hours watching the garage door open and close, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.’

As Ben breaks off, remembering, I suddenly see him in a totally different light. Beneath the tattoos and swagger and the cheerful banter, there’s a vulnerability and seriousness; he’s a concerned father who loves his son.