“No,” says Ben, pushing his chair back to stand as Jamie leans in to shake his hand. “The draft must have come from somewhere else. How’s it going, Jamie? Not at work today?” He’s perfectly genial, but he’s not warm; the handshake is not the welcome Piotr got. I can’t tell if that’s because Ben resents the interruption or if he resents Jamie in particular.

“No, I’m not doing weekends anymore.”

“What do you do, Jamie?” I ask.

“I’m going to see Toast,” Callum says to me, half a statement and half a question, and I nod my permission as he releases my hand.

“Day trading,” Jamie says. “Equities.” I start making tea for Jamie, only half listening to his reply as I keep an eye on Callum through the window. Somehow the existence of him, in the garden, completely changes the feel of the Manse. It should be a family home, I think. It was once. It should be again. “I used to work weekends at the estate agents’, an extra pair of hands to show the houses, that sort of thing,” Jamie is saying. “But it’s going well enough on the trading that I dropped that.”

Callum has reentered the kitchen. Ben pushes his chair back and stands, stretching briefly. “I’d better get you home, Callum.” His shirt rides up, and I see a flash of lean tanned stomach, with a dusting of golden brown hairs running a trail into his jeans. I look away quickly, feeling like a Peeping Tom, especially conscious of Jamie’s eyes on me. “Can I have a rain check on that tour? Maybe I can take your mobile number and we can sort it out for another time?”

“Sure.” I reel off my number for him to type into his phone. Jamie settles into the same chair that he sat in on his midnight visit, and swaps a thank-you for the tea I hand to him.

“Hey,” Ben says suddenly, pulling my gaze back to him. His attention has been caught by the dinner party photo which is still sitting on the counter. “You know, that’s my father. I should have told you; he knew your mother pretty well. Look, this guy, farthest right. Next to Ali’s folks, actually.”