‘No. There is nothing to talk about.’

‘Well, come home then. Come here and let us mind you until …’

‘Until what?’

‘Until you’re well again.’

‘There is nothing wrong with me.’

‘You’re not yourself.’

‘I am myself. I am Laurence McGrane. I am a schoolteacher. I know who I am. I know my wife and child were murdered. I know I am acting in a wild and irrational way towards the people who say they love me. I know that one day I will return to normality and be quiet and polite and acceptable, but not yet. I want to be allowed to scream and burn and hate, until I am sickened by my self-indulgence. I haven’t got a date for that. So fuck off Dad and stop trying to heal me.’

He had never sworn at his father before and the hand that held the receiver trembled as he did so.

There was a long pause.

‘We do love you, son,’ was all his father said, then he put down the phone and all Lar could hear was the emptiness of disconnection.

Why does the telephone always ring when you are in the bath? One of life’s mysteries.

I am not going to answer it. I am going to lie here in this sweet steam and let it ring.

I have to.

If I were to scramble out now and make a dash into my bedroom, I would undoubtedly open up my wound. So I will just lie here and wonder who it could be. What delicious alternatives to an evening at home in front of the telly watching Morse might be on offer? My sister wanting a babysitter? That just means watching Morse in front of her telly. My mother asking me over for a nourishing meal? She doesn’t like Morse. Perhaps it’s a friend. Poor Clara, she might be thinking (or he, if it comes to that), I haven’t seen her for ages. Must give her a buzz and see if she’s OK. See how she’s recovering from her nasty op. Not worth opening up the wound for any of those calls.

Nah!

If, on the other hand, the call was from New York … Six-thirty minus five equals lunchtime in Manhattan; ‘Forgive me, guys, I have a really important call to make. A life-and-death call.’

Deep breath.

Inhale steam.

Let it slowly out. Calm, calm.

Laugh – quietly, of course. No big hearty laugh.

The bell has stopped.

Not much persistence.

I will get out now, gently, and be prepared in case the caller tries again.

If it is my mother she surely will. She always tries twice. It pleases her to know that I don’t wander far these days. Like a spancelled goat.

I love big soft towels; they are one of my extravagances. I buy them in the winter and the summer sales in posh shops – white, pale blue and pink, yellow and even a pepperminty green. I keep them neatly folded in soft layers in the cupboard by the hot press. I will leave them all to my sister Grace in my will; she and I have some similar tastes and she will appreciate the thought behind the bequest. But then, of course, I may see her out, in spite of my lifestyle.