I clear my throat to speak and it sounds loud in the huge room.

‘Where is he? I … I mean, his body?’

Andi is staring out of the huge bay window and doesn’t turn round. ‘The funeral directors came first thing. It was all written down. He had moments of pure clarity, when he knew he didn’t have long, and he could be very precise. There’ll be a funeral, but, like I say, he didn’t have any family.’

‘There’s Uri,’ I say.

‘What?’ says Andi.

‘Uri. His son.’

Andi sits down heavily on the green buttoned sofa. ‘Malky, Susan. There is no Uri. At least, not now. Kenneth lived in his own little world half the time. Uri died years ago. Decades. Kenneth used to comfort himself by imagining he was still with us.’

‘But … the phone calls?’ I say, pointing at the old telephone next to his chair.

‘A remote timer. One of Kenneth’s … fans, I suppose, from the old days, set it up for him years ago, apparently. It would ring every few days at the same time. He knew, of course, but he just liked pretending. He used to say he could reconnect with his son in his … his …’

She trails off, staring out at the sea.

‘In his dreams?’ I say, and she turns back sharply.

‘Yes. Exactly. It was all part of, I don’t know, his “cosmic vision”. His hippy stuff. You know he used to be on the stage?’

Susan and I nod. ‘We saw a bit on that tape,’ she says.

‘I thought that was what that was about,’ murmurs Andi. ‘He did a mystery and mind-reading act, I think. Reckoned he could float!’

I remember the TV show we watched. I say, ‘Wasn’t it all just a trick?’

‘Eeh, I don’t know! Probably! But then he got into all of this dream carry-on, with that thing above his bed, and he gave up show business, and he ended up here, forgotten. And now … now … Oh, sorry, kids.’

Andi digs out a tissue from her sleeve and starts dabbing at her eyes. ‘He was a difficult old so-and-so sometimes, but his lonely heart was in the right place and I’m sad he’s gone.’

Almost instinctively, I think, Susan goes over to Andi and sits next to her. She doesn’t hug her or anything: she just sits. Andi swallows and smiles bravely.

‘May I use the bathroom?’ I say. I’m now acutely aware that the minutes are ticking by until Dad will be home. It’s also not impossible that Fit Billy has been upstairs to check on me and seen that I’m not there.

‘Yes, of course. Out in the hall on the left.’ Andi doesn’t turn round as I leave.