Christ, Malcolm thought, looking across at Tommy. This couldn’t go on forever. He tried to hold his nerve as he said, “Tommy, you know you’re welcome here. As long as you like. But what do you want to do? What’s your plan?” He couldn’t believe how long it had taken him to ask this.

Tommy looked up at him. “Plan?” he said. “Malcolm, I’ve never had one of those.”

“I don’t mean to sound like . . .”

Tommy shrugged. “I promise I won’t stay much longer. A few more days, that’s all.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” Malcolm said. “I just wondered what . . .” He stopped.

“What was going on in my head,” Tommy finished for him.

“Something like that.”

“Most days,” Tommy said, “I don’t even know myself.”

Tommy was upstairs in his room when the doorbell went that afternoon. Malcolm wasn’t especially surprised to see Fiona standing there; of all the people he knew, she was the most likely to drop round unexpectedly. This didn’t mean he was pleased to see her. He had enough on his plate, he felt, without having to make conversation with Fiona today.

“Fiona!” he said, aiming for heartiness and stumbling closer to hysteria. “This is a nice surprise.”

She said, hovering on the doorstep with uncharacteristic hesitancy, “Is Tommy in?”

“He’s upstairs. Asleep, I think. I’d probably best not wake him.” He thought of the dark circles under Tommy’s eyes.

“No,” Fiona said. “Don’t wake him.” Appearing more decided now, she stepped across the threshold.

“Can I get you a cup of tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” She followed him into the kitchen and for a while they made stilted conversation about the weather and Gavin’s bad back, which had apparently flared up again.

Malcolm started to feel that Fiona had something particular she wanted to say. There was something strange in her manner, something a little more forced and awkward than usual. He couldn’t for the life of him work out what was up.

Still she did not get to the point, even when he’d handed her a mug of tea and shepherded her through to the living room.

“Are you warm enough?” he said. There was a definite chill in the air. It was the first day of November, he realized. “Shall I light the fire?”

“No, don’t trouble yourself on my account.” She pulled her thick woollen cardigan more closely around her, and the slight theatricality of the gesture irritated Malcolm.

“I’ll light the fire,” he said. “It’ll be nicer for Tommy, too, when he comes down.”

This, at least, gave him something to do with his hands, and allowed him to turn his back to her for a while as he laid the logs and got the kindling in the centre going.