Matty had forgotten the way one of Joe’s eyebrows went much higher than the other when he frowned. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘I’ve been – not far away. But I was leaving.’

‘On the bike?’ Another uncomprehending frown.

‘Yeah.’ Police. A description put out. Maybe it would be safer to stay inside. ‘When the doctor comes, I’m not here.’

‘OK,’ he said, carefully. ‘Will you come back inside, for now? It’s bloody brass monkeys out here.’ He smiled, before a rasping cough took hold of him. ‘For me, anyway.’

They sat in the living room. Chair, and sofa. The fire high. On Matty’s advice, Franklin had taken Sheanna upstairs for a bath.

Joe was sitting at the front end of the sofa, his elbows on his thighs. Still doing the toe-to-head thing. ‘I don’t know where to start. Would you like to tell me … what’s been going on with you, or—’

‘Where have you been?’ The words came out high, far too high, ridiculous-sounding. Fourteen years reduced to one question.

‘Canada. And here.’ He didn’t even sound that guilty.

‘What, that’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?’

‘No.’ He looked perplexed. ‘No, there’s lots to say. I shouldn’t have gone about it the way I did.’

A forced-out breath, a laugh that rashed like a nettle-sting. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ Hands becoming fists in Matty’s lap. ‘You just left.’ The words hurt. ‘With – what, with him?’

‘With him, yes.’ Quietly.

‘Without telling me, without—’ The sentence halted.

‘It was badly done. It was a bad time.’

‘What do you mean? How do you think it was for me?’

‘I’ve no idea. I can’t imagine.’

‘I thought you were dead.’

His head tipped slightly to the side. A slight frown and the eyebrows again. ‘Why would you have thought that?’ He took a breath, and at the same time there was a crunch of gravel outside. He got up, looked at Matty. ‘You don’t want to be checked over?’

‘No. Don’t – I’m not here.’

‘OK. Whatever you say.’

Matty was in a study, sitting very still, a female doctor’s voice in the room next door. Joe’s voice. It was older, like the rest of him seemed to be. Softened and creased.

There was a long desk, stacks of papers and box files, a computer. A tall filing cabinet. Photos. There was a photo of the two of them, a restaurant, Franklin’s arm on the back of Joe’s chair. A photo of a baby, unmistakeably Sheanna, her mouth wide and toothless, gleeful. Another photo of her, aged perhaps four, with chocolate ice cream all over her face. Matty picked it up and sat down with it again.

A one-two knock. Joe came in and shut the door behind him. Leant against it. ‘The doctor’s gone. Will you come downstairs? Sheanna’s in her bed.’