“Not properly. Bits of it, here and there.” I look around the kitchen myself, as if another look at the walls might suddenly unearth some recollections. Though there may be no recollections to unearth. Perhaps my brain was too amorphous, too young, too new to know how to lay down lifelong memories. “Do you want a tour after your coffee? I mean, if you really are serious about buying the place.”

“That would be great, actually.”

Callum has already finished his allotted two biscuits, and a glass of water also, and is eyeing the hallway with evident curiosity. “Do you want to go off and look around by yourself?” I ask him. Callum looks at Ben, whose expression seems inclined toward no. “I don’t mind,” I assure Ben. “I can’t think that there’s anything dangerous, which probably means there’s nothing especially interesting for him either, but he’s welcome to take a look.”

Ben half nods, half shrugs, and Callum instantly slips off his chair, throwing a quick thank-you over his shoulder as he disappears. I turn back to Ben, a smile still lingering on my face. It seems oddly intimate, now, to be sitting at my own kitchen table having a coffee with a man, practically a stranger. I hear Callum thumping up the stairs, then the sound fades, as if the Manse itself is deliberately cocooning us in the peace of the kitchen. I look for something to say. “He seems a good kid.”

Ben smiles and snags himself a biscuit. “He is. He has his moments, but yeah, he’s a good kid. He’s Fiona’s, in case you didn’t know,” he adds. My eyes snap to him, but he’s stirring milk into his coffee and doesn’t notice my consternation. “Though I suppose there’s no reason why you would know.” I’m putting them side by side—Fiona and Callum—in my mind’s eye, or at least I’m trying to, but I can’t make the image of Fiona stick. She veers nauseatingly in and out of focus, whereas I can see Callum solid and pin sharp. “She’s a single mum. I help out where I can.”

Which means Ben is babysitting so that Fiona can meet with Carrie. I feel a distinct unease at the thought of the trouble she’s gone to—arranging childcare—in order to meet up with Carrie. Unless perhaps she’s working today anyway . . . “Where’s the dad?”

Ben shrugs. “No idea. Nobody knows who he is.” He half smiles at my open mouth. “She won’t say.”

“She won’t say? But surely she’d want child support payments.” I process that for a moment. “Maybe she doesn’t know.”