‘That’s how it used to be. Not so much now. Like him’—and he indicated number thirty—‘and his seat covers. Like it’s gonna make him millions.’

‘Sorry if I was a bitofa shit.’

‘Didn’t say I cared. Just remember. That used to make Mum’s day, when yer mum asked. She’s always loved having you and Jen … Me, David, too. We knew what it was like.’

It seemed cooler now, but that was just David’s shade.

I said, ‘Maybe it was worse for you. You knew your Dad.’

‘Better, worse, doesn’t matter. You get on, eh?’

‘But … how he died.’

‘Doesn’t matter how you die. Days after he’d gone, me and David decided, Righto, let’s make this work. We had the house looking nice, me on the dishes and hoover, David cooking, making beds.’ He turned again. ‘You just gotta decide how it’s gonna be.’

‘I didn’t get to decide.’

‘It coulda ended worse.’

‘How?’

‘It’s not my place to say.’

He stood, returned to his scythe and continued.

‘Why not?’ I asked.

‘He was a good man, your dad.’ As he swung. ‘We helped him paint Jen’s room, and yours, before you come home from hospital. He bought cots, and all the gear, had it nice. Doted on yers. Used to parade you up and down the street. He was a changed man for a while. Your mum thought things’d come good.’ He stopped again, realising he was about to say the same thing. ‘He even hired a photographer, and he set up in your living room and took photos, and they gave us a copy.’

Me and Jen in soft focus. I stood, approached him and tried to take the scythe. ‘Here, let me, you’re gonna have a stroke.’

He wouldn’t yield.

‘What do you mean, a changed man?’

‘Just saying, don’t think he didn’t care about you. Don’t think it was that simple, why he went away.’ He realised he couldn’t go back. The grass fell in sheaths, and sat neatly on the ground.

‘You can’t tell me half a story.’ I’d never seen him like this before. Maybe it was the heat, the smoke, the ash in the air.

There was no point pursuing it; he wasn’t about to reveal any more. He’d let my dad slip out of his box, and knew he had to go back in. He stopped, surveyed his lawn, then went inside.

Curtis rode past. ‘Forsaken now, like some old, mouldering thing …’