That was the moment, just that short sentence, those ten words. Why would Maureen ask that? What makes her think she wouldn’t be? Had that argument been something to do with her? Is that why Maureen is asking? But before she has time to question it, Maureen continues:

‘I was hoping to get some gardening done today, but if it rains, I shan’t be getting out there.’

Chloe doesn’t say anything as Maureen passes by, in turn taking the butter from the fridge, putting jam on the table, side plates, two knives.

‘Oops, forgetting myself,’ Maureen laughs, scooping up one of the side plates she’d put down and replacing it with the same Bunnykins one. She pushes it towards Chloe.

The bread pops out of the toaster. Maureen puts it on a plate and carries it over to the table. She sits down opposite Chloe and offers her a slice of toast for her Bunnykins plate. Chloe takes one slowly. Maureen starts buttering her piece, then rolls her eyes, getting up again to go to the cutlery drawer. She rummages inside it, all the way to the back this time, then returns with a knife – a smaller knife – and places it in front of Chloe.

‘Can’t bear it with margarine,’ Maureen says. ‘It’s got to be butter, don’t you think?’

The knife she has handed Chloe has a plastic handle and a blunt curved blade. The handle is a pale cream and on it is a bunny that matches the ones leaping around on her plate.

‘I don’t even like these butter blends,’ Maureen says, ‘They call them things like I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter. Well, it isn’t, so I sure can believe it.’

She laughs to herself and Chloe manages a faint smile in return. This Bunnykins knife, with its faded pattern, feels too small in her hands. Chloe dips it in the butter and smooths it over the toast, on the bunny plate, with the bunny knife, while Maureen hums to herself as if desperate to fill the silence.

Chloe reaches out for Maureen’s arm, touch seeming the best way to penetrate this facade.

‘You know you can talk to me, don’t you, Maureen? I mean, if anything’s happened . . .’

Maureen’s chewing slows, but she doesn’t answer. Chloe continues:

‘I heard . . . when I was upstairs in my . . .’ Chloe says, swallowing a piece of toast. ‘I heard you and Patrick arguing.’

Maureen doesn’t answer her.

‘I heard what he said to you,’ Chloe continues, ‘that you’re crazy.’

Maureen stops chewing.

Chloe carries on talking: ‘You know that’s not right, don’t you? That no one should talk to you like that . . .’

Maureen struggles slightly to swallow her toast. Her voice is husky when she speaks.

‘Maybe he’s right,’ Maureen says, dropping the slice in her hand to her plate. ‘I have been having some strange thoughts lately.’