‘So how’s the new school?’

‘Fine.’

‘You always get on well.’

He twisted his gold chain around with one finger.

‘We’re very proud of you. It’s good we made that change. Now you can concentrate on your exams. And your art, of course.’ I went over to the window and looked out on the back garden. Condensation had gathered in a little pool on the corner of the sill. I tried to wipe it off, but ended up spreading it across the glossed wood. Outside, the garden was asleep, covered by a dusting of frost. A few browned chrysanthemum leaves were holding on, limp with chill.

‘Look at that,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it incredible? Everything’s still. But nothing’s dead. It’ll all come up next year.’

Robert sighed.

‘Come and look,’ I said.

He came over to the window and looked out in silence. ‘Do you remember your garden?’ I asked.

‘It wasn’t a garden.’

‘It was a patch of garden. That’s much more than some people ever have.’

He traced a line in the water on the windowsill.

‘Those sunflowers were good that year,’ I said. ‘In the end.’

‘They were OK.’

‘You did a good job.’

He laughed then. ‘You did it, Dad.’

‘We did it together. It was our patch. Wasn’t it?’

As I turned to him, I was slightly surprised, as I always was, that his green eyes were level with mine.

‘Where did you get that pullover?’

He was wearing a white sweatshirt with a collar. Embroidered on his chest was the word ‘Champion’.

He looked down.

‘It’s Luke’s.’

‘It’s too small for you.’

‘It’s not,’ he said, plucking at the front of it.

‘Doesn’t Luke want it back?’

‘He’s lent it to me.’

‘He’ll want it back, though.’

‘Eventually.’

I stared out of the window at the frozen garden, and there was a long silence.

‘You see each other a lot,’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘His parents don’t mind?’

‘Why should they?’

‘Perhaps you should be studying more. You’ve got your exams in the summer.’

‘We study together.’

I caught the reflection of his face in the window. For an awful moment I thought he looked like Jack, his hair high on his head, his shoulders broad, his chin straight.

‘Has he given you anything else, this Luke?’

He laughed again and shook his head. ‘What are you trying to say, Dad?’

‘I think you should give it back to him.’

‘I will. When he asks for it.’

I nodded.

‘Dad?’

‘Yes?’

‘Will you stop staring at my earring?’

‘Sorry.’ I tried a smile. ‘Did it hurt?’

He shook his head.

‘No. I suppose the girls like it?’

‘What?’

‘Earrings. On boys.’

‘Maybe.’

On the wall above his bed there was a reproduction of a painting. It showed a naked woman standing on a shell, hair streaming out on both sides.