“If they do, no one holds it against you.”

Tommy drank some more of his tea, then said abruptly, “I know I’m inconveniencing you. Thank you for having me to stay.”

Malcolm lowered his own mug and looked at Tommy. “It’s no trouble,” he said.

Tommy nodded quickly. “And I know I said I’d move on. After a week or so.”

There was a pause as Malcolm tried to find his feet in the conversation. “There’s no rush to leave,” he said.

Tommy met his eye. “I’m not planning on staying forever,” he said. “Not for months or anything. I promise.”

“It’s O.K.”

“It’s just . . .” Tommy stopped and raised his hand to rub his face. Finally, he said, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

When Malcolm didn’t immediately answer—he was trying to decide what to say—Tommy rushed on, “I will have. I just need a bit of time. To work things out. Just a little more time.”

Malcolm thought of his wife, and at last, holding Heather in his mind, he found the right thing to say. “You’re welcome here, Tommy. For as long as you want.”

And although Malcolm asked him no questions, Tommy began to speak. Without looking at Malcolm, he said, “I was living with Caroline in London. We’d been together a while. Four years. I thought maybe this time . . . but in the end it all went wrong. I made it go wrong. And after that I didn’t know what to do.”

When Malcolm was sure Tommy wasn’t going to say anything else, he said, with more certainty in his voice than he felt, “You need a rest. That’s what it sounds like.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “That’s it.”

“I’m sorry about Caroline. Did you . . . ? Was she nice?”

“Yes,” Tommy said. “I loved her.”

Malcolm nodded. He thought of how he missed Heather, of how nothing helped. Finally, he said, “We’d best start tea. Lasagne sound O.K.?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. He got up quickly from the table. “I’ll do the onions.” He got out the chopping board and knife, fetched the onions and sat back down at the table. Turning an onion in his hand, he said inconsequentially, “A crystal rooster seems like a strange thing for Heather to have owned.”

Malcolm was so surprised he laughed out loud. “It was a wedding present from some aunt or other. I think she was glad to see the back of it.”

Tommy nodded to himself and began slicing the onions.

11

I saw Tommy yesterday,” Fiona said to her husband the following afternoon, laying down her book and watching for his reaction. She had found herself oddly reluctant to mention it the previous day, shaken by the encounter and unwilling to summon up Tommy’s presence in their living room.

Gavin said, barely raising his head from the newspaper, “Oh? And how was he?”