I recognised the catch in her voice. ‘We’ll give him an hour,’ I said. ‘I’m sure he won’t want to be plucking those birds for any longer than he has to.’

She went back into the kitchen.

‘I expect he’s hanging about with Luke,’ I called.

I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the empty place settings.

‘It’s not like him to be late,’ said Kathryn. She was standing behind me at the stove. She gave the curry another long stir, then rapped the wooden spoon on the side of the pot with some force. I watched as a dollop of brown liquid fell back to join the rest of the sticky gloop. The sweet-savoury smell of it reminded me of the scent of daffodils. That first strong, peppery whiff of spring.

‘What did you say to him last night, when you went down there?’ she asked, folding her arms across her chest and holding the glistening spoon up by one shoulder.

‘I told you. I apologised.’

‘How did you apologise?’

‘I said I was sorry. That was it.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He didn’t say anything.’ I showed her my palms. ‘He didn’t have anything to say to me.’

Kathryn blew up into her fringe. ‘He’s almost two hours late,’ she said, looking towards the back door.

‘He’ll be here soon.’

‘Are you sure you didn’t upset him again?’

‘He didn’t seem upset. He just didn’t respond.’

Kathryn drove her wooden spoon back into the curry and stirred again.

‘I’m not sure when to put the rice on.’ She picked up a packet of Uncle Ben’s. We had rice sometimes in the power station canteen, but I always avoided it.

‘It’ll be his own fault if his dinner’s spoiled.’

She frowned. ‘Where is he, though?’ She shook the packet of Uncle Ben’s and stared at the man on the front, as if he might give her an answer. ‘He must be starving by now.’

Kathryn went to the window and lifted the corner of the blind. She rubbed a spy-hole in the condensation on the window and peered out. ‘Perhaps you should go down there, Howard.’

I thought of the rows of turkeys hanging limp and lifeless in the cold air. ‘Again?’

‘Just to check.’

I stood up and went to join her at the window. ‘Why don’t we give it another hour?’ I patted her hand. ‘He’ll come when he’s hungry.’

Together we looked through the spy-hole in the condensation until it had almost disappeared.

Half an hour later, the phone rang.

Kathryn answered it. From my chair in the kitchen, I heard her say, ‘I’ll get him for you’.

I never receive phone calls.

She handed over the receiver, but stayed standing next to me in the hallway, tea towel in one hand, tilting her head towards my ear.

‘Howard? Kevin McNeill.’

‘Sorry?’