I spat on the sock again, a proper gob, scoured the angel’s face. ‘I’d have probably loved him too. From what you’ve told me, I mean, from what I –’

Boom. I looked round, the gravel popping, a car … not stopping.

Biddy stood, stretched. Her toenails, her feet.

‘My mum would’ve loved you too,’ I said. ‘I’m sure of it. I even had a dream where she –’

Popping, stopping, boom. Chris and Nora’s car.

I stood. Biddy took my oily hand, my heartbeat. It was OK. I was a parent, Chris and Nora were parents, surely we could see eye to eye. Even Biddy – she was becoming a parent, in a way.

We’d driven Oliver and Sophie to the summit of Mount Donna Buang in search of snow the previous weekend, found only slush and disappointed tourists. At the lookout, I’d crouched to take a snap of Biddy and the kids. An Asian man strode towards me, gestured for me to hand over my phone and join the others so he could take our family photo: Mummy, Daddy, kids.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket. Zac, Sarah? I couldn’t look.

Chris crunched round to Nora’s door in a claret V-neck, offered her his arm. She stood, green jacket, silver hair, blue glasses, pulled her handbag strap over her head. They were older than my parents, or would have been if my parents were alive.

‘Hi, darling,’ Nora said, hugging Biddy. ‘Oh, what have you done to your toes?’

‘Yeah, oops, bit of an accident.’ Biddy laughed, looked at her feet. ‘I came off my bike, but Chris was there to help me.’

Eye contact, boom – hello!

‘Yeah, it was pretty scary,’ I said, shaking Chris’s hand, leaning in to hug Nora, making sure not to get any Lekker oil on her jacket. ‘It could have been so much worse.’

‘You should get some disinfectant on those toes,’ Nora said.

‘That’s what Chris said.’

I was Biddy’s hero. Me.

‘We can get some after this,’ I said.

‘Good idea.’ Nora sighed. ‘After this …’ She turned towards the headstone, her shoulders slumping. ‘Seven years today. Can you believe it? There won’t be much left of him now. Just bones, maybe. What do you think, Chris?’

I …

‘Yes, well, maybe,’ Chris said, hands in his pockets, tilting forwards.

‘Maybe still a little more than that, love.’

She brushed her hair from her face. Her extra finger was a brownish nub, looked fine – I’d seen it when we ran into them at the National Gallery.

‘Chris and I were just admiring Aidan’s poem,’ Biddy said.

‘Ah yes.’ Chris smiled. ‘Hands reaching from the fire.’

‘Biddy’s told me how much Aidan loved writing,’ I said.

Eye contact. Was Chris my father now too? Not my blood father, obviously, but some kind of illegal in-law?

He nodded, approached Nora, placed his hand on her back.