Joe seemed suddenly faintly imbalanced, as if small parts of him had been unfastened. He looked down at his feet. ‘He has.’

‘Did you really sleep with the copper?’

It was lunchtime, and Cormac had not come.

‘Not really. Not exactly. Slept with his sister.’

‘Right.’ The look he gave Matty was the one he used to have. Faintly amused, quietly supportive. The opposite of Rosa’s brewing rancour.

‘How did you meet Franklin?’ They seemed different, on the surface at least. Franklin was neater, sharper, a little bossy. A trim haircut and a gold watch.

‘We just started up a conversation one day at the Ponds, and I’d see him on and off. Seemed to start going at the same time as each other. He was – you know, it was getting so bad with Rosa. I could talk to him about it. It’s a terrible thing, Matty, being hit by a woman. It’s a hard thing to admit to. He was the only one who knew. He said I should leave, and he was right. I didn’t do it the right way, I know that.’

They watched the clouds scud over the mountains.

‘I shouldn’t have left. Not the way I did. I needed to get out of there, but – I should have sat you down, first. I should have taken you with me.’ There was fortitude in his look, as if to have done so was as good as jumping over a ravine.

‘Yeah. You should have.’

His half-smile faded. ‘I’m sorry, Matty.’

There was no saying, ‘It’s OK.’ It wasn’t OK.

They ate. Joe had insisted on making pancakes, grew tired, and supervised Matty instead. Chocolate spread and peanut butter. He watched Matty eat, hardly touching his own plate.

‘What’s the coldest you’ve swum?’

‘Zero point five degrees.’

‘Sweet Jesus. How are you still breathing?’

‘Practice.’

‘The furthest you’ve swum?’

‘Twelve K.’

‘Christ. Fair play to you. Nicest?’

‘I dunno. South of France once, maybe. After a job. The Ponds.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Got to know it a bit, after you left.’

‘The … Mixed Pond, you mean?’

‘All of them.’

‘And Sheanna’s – mum?’

‘Canadian. A friend of Franklin’s. Incredible woman, really.’

‘Does Sheanna know?’

‘Well, she knows she has a mother, if that’s what you mean. You can’t imagine her not having worked out basic human reproduction by now. We send her a photo every year and Sheanna writes a letter. It’s weird, but – she’s got kids of her own. Four of them. It works, somehow. Always a bit scared that she’s going to change her mind, try and come over and get her. But there were contracts written, that sort of thing.’

‘Did you ever have any trouble?’