“Seeing as you’re both here now, would you like to come in for a drink and a biscuit?” If we have biscuits . . . I’m mentally reviewing the shopping haul—I think I saw some Hobnobs in there. Carrie’s choice; I don’t buy biscuits for myself.

Callum looks up at Ben, and Ben nods his approval, dropping a hand on Callum’s shoulder. It’s not overbearing, or proprietorial; it’s more a gesture of solidarity. “Yes, please,” Callum says eagerly, and I step back into the kitchen, holding open the door and ushering them both in. Callum bounds in, then stops abruptly. “But . . . but it shouldnae look like this,” he says uncertainly.

“Callum!” admonishes Ben. Once again I’m reminded of how tall he is. It’s more apparent in the close confines of the kitchen than it was in the garden.

“It’s okay, I totally agree. Rather . . . yellow, isn’t it? The decor doesn’t really fit the outside.” I smile at the boy, and he smiles back, relieved not to have offended. “Go ahead, sit down. We’re not really set up for small people, I’m afraid. I can do milk, water or fresh apple juice, but no squash or anything more exciting.” I start to hunt down the biscuits. “We do have . . . yep, here we go. Hobnobs.” Carrie has obviously had a go at these already; the packet is at least a third gone. I place it on the table and Callum looks at Ben questioningly.

“It’s okay,” Ben says. “You can have a couple.” The boy’s hand snakes out, whip fast. “A couple is two, by the way,” he adds drolly, looking pointedly at the boy, who wrinkles his nose, then thanks me through a mouthful of biscuit.

Mum’s friend. What does that translate to in adult vernacular? They certainly seem unrelated, with Callum’s dark hair and eyes in clear contrast to Ben’s pale blue eyes and much fairer hair. And whereas I already know that Ben tans well, without even freckling, Callum possesses milk-pale skin.

“Thanks again for the other night,” I tell Ben, pulling out a chair to join them at the table. “Did you do much damage to the whisky in the end?”

He grimaces. “To the whisky, and the bourbon, and some rather fine brandy I was keeping for a special occasion . . . so I was somewhat jaded the morning after. I suspect Ali took the brunt of it, though. I don’t think he surfaced till the afternoon.” He runs an assessing eye over me. “Anyway, how are you settling in?”

“Oh, fine,” I say, brightly.

“Do you remember it much?” Ben’s eyes are wandering over the kitchen now.