“Yeah, Dad gave me one to put on my car keys.”

I grinned. I guessed every conversation would involve a mention of his driving. “I’d forgotten you were driving now. But how did you know I’d be here?”

“I knew you’d come back,” he said. “This is your house now. I thought I’d wait for you. How’ve you been?”

“I’m tired, but I’m fine. No need to worry. I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to talk to you.”

Immediately he looked shifty. “What about?”

“About your dad’s car.”

He stood up and looked out of the window at Tom’s car on the driveway. “What about it?”

“I thought you might like to have it,” I said. “I doubt you could drive it because the insurance would be sky high, but you could sell it if you wanted. Put the money toward university or a gap year, if you fancied that.”

“Isn’t it yours, though?”

“Technically, because our money was shared.” Well, my money was shared. “But I don’t want it. It’s too big for me to drive.” It wasn’t that, though. I knew at such close quarters I’d feel Tom’s presence and suffocate with the stress. “You should have it.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “And in his will, because we weren’t divorced, I’m left the house and savings, and his life insurance is split between you and me,” I said. “But I don’t think that’s fair.” He shot around to stare at me. “I’m going to split everything between the two of us. You still won’t be able to touch your share until you’re twenty-one, but you’ll get interest off the investment. Your mum will take care of that. And tell her that she’ll carry on getting child support payments until you leave university.”

His voice was unsteady as he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Of course. You’re his son.”

He started to cry then. His back was still to me and I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around him. He felt unfamiliar in his suit; I was used to him in school uniform or jeans or a rugby kit covered in mud; despite his height he seemed like a boy wearing adult clothes.

“It’ll be okay,” I said again and again. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Eventually he calmed down. His phone beeped with a message.

“It’s Mum.” He rubbed his hands across his eyes. “I’d better go. I’ll talk to you later.” At the front door he stopped. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a candy-striped paper bag.

“Here,” he said. “This is for you.”