‘I don’t know why you’re saying these things to me.’

‘You asked me to.’

‘I did not.’

‘Maybe not in so many words.’

‘Definitely not in any words at all.’

She sighed.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you. I just thought you needed help.’

‘Help?’

‘Yes.’

‘Everyone wants to help me. That’s why I had to get away. I want to be left alone.’

‘You and Greta Garbo.’

He slammed his hands down on the table.

‘Don’t bloody do that!’

She stood up.

‘I’m going to get dressed now. I hate being shouted at. You people from up there are so prickly, it’s no wonder you can’t get along with anyone else, let alone yourselves.’

‘Stupid.’

‘Yes. Stupid.’

She turned and walked out of the room.

He began to clear the table, piling the plates up beside the sink, scraping the remains of bacon rinds, crusts and crumbs into the bin, just as Caitlin had taught him to do. His mother had always excused him from such chores. ‘Laurence is tired. Laurence has his homework to do. Go you on away, Laurence. I can manage, I’m sure you’ve better things to do.’

Always, Mum, always.

He turned on the tap and squirted some washing-up liquid into the basin. That woman was singing again in her bedroom; if you could call it singing. Big if!

He wondered what Caitlin had really meant on the beach.

Goodbye?

Get on.

That would be quite like her.

Get on.

Sometimes when he had exasperated her she would say that. ‘Oh Lar, get on,’ or even, ‘Do let me get on, Lar.’

Fare thou well. She needed rid of him. Was that it?

He heard her voice quite clearly: ‘Dead. We are a long time dead, Lar. Oh Lar, for heaven’s sake get on.’

For some reason his right foot was wet. He looked down and saw that hot water and bubbles were streaming out over the top of the sink and cascading onto the floor, soaking his right foot.

‘Bugger.’

He turned off the tap and plunged his hand and part of his arm into the hot water, searching for the plug.

‘Bugger, bugger.’

‘Long time dead.’

He found it and pulled. His hand was almost cooked and the sleeve of his jersey soaking.

‘Do get on, Lar, and give me a bit of peace.’

The water level in the basin was sinking. His hand was throbbing. The bubbles made a quiet sighing sound.

‘What in the name of God are you doing?’

Clara was standing in the doorway.

‘Washing up. But …’

‘You’ve had a little mishap.’

‘I … Yes. I was thinking. I’m …’

‘Well, clear up all that water. Don’t just stand there. Your trousers will dry quick enough in front of the Aga and I do have a dish-washer in case you hadn’t noticed. All mod cons in this house. Why plunge your hands in and out of hot water if you don’t have to?’

‘I’m sorry.