Robbie pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Everything’s a competition where she’s concerned.’

Anna laughed. ‘All right. Let’s see what else we can do, then. Put them in the fridge to chill for a minute. Your dad won’t mind if I look in your cupboards for suggestions, will he? If not, I’ll pop down the road and get something; the shop will still be open.’

‘He won’t mind. Food cupboards are those ones up there.’ Robbie nodded at the four cabinets above the work surface as he carried the tray to the fridge.

Anna opened the first to find tins and packets of savoury staples banked in semi-neat rows and quickly moved on to the second. She’d thought she’d found the same again and was about to shut the cupboard when a realization brought her to a standstill. The whole cabinet was full of jars of pickled beetroot, stacks and stacks of it. There must have been fifty unopened containers jammed into the space.

‘Ahh,’ Young Robbie’s voice said, behind her. ‘Yeah, not that cupboard.’

‘You’re beetroot fans in this house then, eh?’

‘No,’ the boy sighed. ‘Dad can’t stand it. Calls it the Devil’s vegetable. Hates the smell. He won’t even open a jar.’ Anna looked at him over her shoulder and he shrugged. ‘I’ve had it a couple of times. It’s okay.’

‘Then why—’

‘My mum loved it. My grandma says that she ate so much of it when she was expecting me, they used to joke I was going to come out purple. And Dad… he’s got this thing where he always buys a jar every time he goes shopping. He says he doesn’t even realize he’s done it until he gets home and there it is in the bag. But then he can’t throw it out. So it stays. You should see the cupboard under the stairs. It’s so full I have to keep my skateboard in my room.’

Anna looked back at the jars of pickle. Her mouth had run dry.

‘He’s not weird,’ Robbie said. ‘He’s not, I promise.’

She swallowed and turned around with a watery smile. ‘I don’t think he’s weird.’

He tapped his fingers on the table, chewing his lower lip, looking so much like a miniature version of his father. ‘Grandma says he’s still grieving, that’s all.’

‘I know. He loved your mum very much.’

Robbie nodded, distracted. ‘Have you seen a picture? Of my mum?’

‘No, never. I’d like to, though.’