We sat on my bed drinking tea for two hours, my niece and I. She flicked through the letters, occasionally stopping to read one in full before moving on to the next. We talked, skirting the topic of Lou, backing off or politely indicating and slipping into another lane if anything came too close for comfort. Maybe because it felt disloyal to talk behind her back, or maybe because we both had things to hide.

But I found out other things. Like that Wolfie loved Shawn Mendes and Eminem and Amy Winehouse, but also Neil Young and Etta James and, no surprise, Bob Dylan. That she ate sausages but not mash, preferred chocolate to pudding, and that she too was a strong supporter of the replacement birthday rule. (That one delighted me no end once I got over the surprise, and I couldn’t wait to drop it on George.)

I found out she wasn’t fond of kids as a rule, but that George was an exception. She preferred cats to dogs (not so needy) but adored Gentleman. And she didn’t have much time for doctors but thought Dom was a very cool dude. If I felt a little left out of the mentions, I’m sure I didn’t let on, and when she finally yawned and got up to leave, I was shocked at the tug in my gut and the strength with which I wanted her to stay.

As we said our goodnights Wolfie turned to go, then hesitated.

‘Danny, what I said earlier. About Lou and me.’ She looked me square in the eyes and you’d better believe I was paying attention. ‘It kind of feels like . . . I don’t know. Like maybe it isn’t just us any more.’

Before the words even hit my ears, there was a puff of cool air as the door opened and closed and she was gone. The shed suddenly seemed huge.

Enough room for a dozen Petes.

28

Danny

The next morning when we sat out on the patio drinking coffee, Lou offered to sort the multitude of new letters Pete had dropped off into some kind of order to make it easier for me.

‘Like triage,’ she said.

Like you wouldn’t believe, I thought, recalling a four-page marathon I’d read late into the previous night, with the occasional bit of something in my eye.

She began to work her way methodically through the bundles I handed over, skimming the contents of each letter, spending longer on some than others. Even though she was frowning, deep in concentration, it struck me that it was the first time I’d seen her look genuinely animated. I was clearly surplus to requirements, though, so I left her to it and took the opportunity to spread a couple of loads of fertiliser around Dom’s garden beds. When I was done, I moved the remainder of the bags to a more sheltered spot behind the shed and secured them with a plastic sheet and some loose bricks I’d found in my clear-out. It was a forty-minute job that had taken me three months to get to, and it certainly made me think.