As I was pondering this, Eleanor Mallon became aware of the pile of cookie dust that had accumulated on her blouse, and attempted to tip it into the open palm of her hand. But when she went to pull at the crease in which the crumbs were nestled, the elasticity of her blouse caused it to spring back, sending the cookie crumbs sprinkling up into her face like tiny fireworks before they settled into her lap.

“Oh,” Eleanor Mallon fretted. There was nothing to do but stand up from the cushioned armchair and brush the crumbs onto the carpet. But it was clear she didn’t want to do that. So I saw poor Eleanor Mallon make the decision to simply remain seated in the chair, covered in crumbs for the duration of our interview.

That was the moment I stopped being afraid of Eleanor Mallon and decided I would let her help me.

27

Trevor turned up around five with a package of pre-made, pre-seasoned hamburgers, some cheddar slices for melting on top, a bag of buns, and Mike, who did not look happy about any of this. But having met Mike a few times now, I wondered if he ever looked happy about anything. Trevor had also brought ice-cream, which reminded me that the first time he brought Mike over, it had come across as an obscure gesture of celebration. So likely Trevor thought we were celebrating today as well.

I had texted him after Eleanor Mallon left, as he’d instructed me to. I told him the visit had gone ok and I was feeling good about it. Hence, I supposed, Mike. And ice-cream for dessert.

Trevor had not brought beer, as there was still a bunch left in the downstairs fridge, and it seemed as if lately he had made the switch to rum in any case. He commandeered the barbecue, stationing a juice glass with a few fingers of Captain Morgan and some ice on the patio railing alongside of him. Because Mike was there, we were able to convince Kelli to relinquish her perch by the couch and sit outside with the rest of us as Trevor grilled. She kept sneaking smiles at Mike and asking the occasional question about how he liked school, but Mike didn’t understand what she was asking and didn’t seem interested in having me interpret for her. He held some kind of cheap electronic game at his crotch and kept glancing down at it, with equal lack of interest, to press the occasional button. I thought at any moment that Trevor might bark at him to put it away, but he didn’t seem to notice.

It was September now, but that autumnal chill in the air that Eleanor Mallon kept going on about was nowhere to be had. The evening sun blazed directly onto the four of us from its angle on the horizon, as if it had been trained on us like a spotlight, by stagehands. Trevor, however, was in his element — his happy place, you might even say — slathering the pre-made patties with No Name barbecue sauce, swirling his drink in his hand and making enough conversation to compensate for the rest of us.