‘Crematorium. Uncle Phil wasn’t very impressed at her meddling. He’d wanted to leave them there, uncollected. So now the ashes are here, George takes pride of place in the laundry.’ I know my old flame Lockie’s parents had their English pointer cremated when he died, and the dog’s remains were kept in the lounge on a bookshelf until he was planted under a memorial pohutukawa tree in the garden. That was creepy enough. We always just dug a bloody big hole when one of the farm dogs died; we didn’t waste money on cremation. Anyway, if a dog wasn’t allowed in the house when it was alive, why the hell would you change the rules, just because it was dead? I’d thought they were a bit strange. Although, this took the cake.

‘But surely he’d see them all the time in the laundry; it would be a continuous reminder under his nose, every day. The old guy must have really pissed Uncle Phil off to end up in some cupboard.’

‘It’s a bit of a sore point and no one will talk about it. Besides, I think the ashes are quite invisible to him in the laundry. I mean to say, how often does your dad do the washing?’ As soon as the words came out of her mouth, I could see Maggie regretted the reference to my dad. ‘Oh God, Sam, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I know you’re worried, I—’

‘It’s okay, I know what you mean, and it was a fair comment. I don’t think Dad’s seen the inside of our laundry for decades.’

Maggie smiled and gave me a tug on my sleeve. ‘Come on, leave that for now. Another hour won’t hurt it. I need a cup of tea and some breakfast – we’ve got fruit toast, if you’re interested.’

She knew damned well a promise of fruit toast and tea would get my attention. I trailed her out to the kitchen and plonked myself down at the table, so I could stare out of the window. The morning light was reflecting off the still water of the harbour. It was breathtaking. It was moments like this that had me thanking my lucky stars I’d made the decision to up sticks and move here.

Maggie filled the kettle and flicked it on, a magical sound. The next piece of magic was the sound of the toaster clicking with its cargo of fruit bread.

‘So what’s your plan of attack today?’ she asked.