‘Thanks Mum.’ Just then I was reminded of the little boy that would come home from school, famished and worn out, ready to be looked after by his dear old ma. ‘Come on, let’s get you some air.’ He ushered Daisy forward.

I followed them both into the hallway. Daisy had lost her blanket somewhere between the hallway and the sofa so Ben grabbed his leather coat and put it around her. I saw the devotion that accompanied the action. Something stirred deep within me and I had to look away.

I sucked in my breath at the cold breeze that shot through the hall as Ben ushered Daisy outside. ‘It’s very cold son. You’ll both catch your deaths.’

‘We’ll be fine, Mum.’

When they returned a few minutes later I was still standing there, not caring how it looked. I knew I had a purpose now.

Ben took his coat from Daisy and hung it back up.

‘Should I get more brandy?’ I asked, knowing I needed to at least look like I wanted to be of more help.

‘I’m going to bed,’ Daisy said with no emotion or tone to her voice at all. It sounded almost digital.

‘Okay, I’ll take you up.’ Ben guided her up the stairs as I watched from the bottom.

I was hovering around the bottom of the stairs ten minutes later when Ben arrived back, as though I hadn’t really left. I had plumped the cushions where Daisy had been sitting and hand washed the glasses, then I had taken up my post again by the first step.

‘I don’t expect you to look after us, Mum. I have my job,’ Ben said. I followed him through into the lounge. ‘I’ll rent us a little place. The insurance money will come through and we can start to rebuild our lives. Don’t feel like we are imposing. We are not. This is very temporary.’

I followed him through into the kitchen.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, son. I care about you.’ We both stopped near the kettle. I laid my hand on Ben’s wrist. He looked down at it then moved away to the table where I had left the brandy bottle. He poured himself a glass and paced with it. He seemed to be muttering to himself, but I couldn’t quite tell. When he finally stopped, he looked at me. Not just at me, he looked at me as though he was looking right through me into my soul.

‘Mum?’ he said, with such an emphasis on the question that I was sure he was about to say something profound.

‘Yes, son?’ Then I waited, three, four, five seconds or so for him to speak.

‘I’m going to bed.’ He put down his empty glass on the table.

‘Oh. Okay, son.’ He went to walk past me. I put my hand out and caught his arm. ‘Son?’

He stopped and bent his six-foot-one stature down towards me and allowed me to give him a little peck on the cheek; an act I had been doing for as long as I could remember. I watched him leave the room and I heard his heavy feet on the creaky wooden stairs. How I had missed that sound. I picked up his glass and cradled it.