‘We would like to know, Mr McKinley!’ says Susan. From anyone else, something like that would sound too keen, creepy even. But it’s obvious that Susan is being sincere. It’s the mention of the conscious and unconscious minds, I think: it’ll have something to do with her meditation.

At that point, Andi bustles back in and starts sniffing and tutting and flapping a tea towel towards the open window.

‘Oh, Kenneth!’ she says, crossly. ‘You must think I was born yesterday! It’s bad enough for yourself, but worse for these two, and I’m entitled to work in a smoke-free environment! Did he ask you to do it?’ she says to me and Susan.

‘No,’ I say, automatically lying.

‘Yes,’ says Susan, and I think her response is just as unthinking. Mr McKinley’s teeth go clack-clack and he looks annoyed at being interrupted.

I don’t want to go. I want to find out more, but Andi is fussing with the tea tray and says, ‘You should take this leftover cake home with you.’ Susan gets to her feet and looks at her neat little wristwatch.

‘I think we’ve taken up quite enough of your time,’ she says in her prim, grown-up way. ‘It has been delightful.’ I’m desperately trying to tell her no with my face, my eyes, but she’s not looking at me.

Just then, there’s a loud bell and I’m so tense I actually jump, making Susan turn in surprise.

Mr McKinley stretches out his skinny arm to an ancient telephone next to him on the table. It’s one of those with a handset resting on top of a box-thing and he picks it up and holds it to his ear.

‘That’ll be you, will it, Uri?’ he says, a warm smile spreading over his face. ‘Hold one moment.’ Mr McKinley presses the handset to his chest and looks at us. ‘It’s my son, Uri. It’s been wonderful to meet you. Thank you for coming. We’ll continue this another time, shall we? Goodbye.’

He turns back to his phone call and starts chatting while we head to the living-room door. Just like that, it’s over.

Chapter 33

I’m raging inside at Susan for being so keen to leave. I hear a growl coming from down the corridor, and old Dennis’s claws clicking unevenly on the tiled floor as he limps towards me. Andi’s behind him, calling, ‘Dennis! Dennis! No!’ She grabs hold of his collar and starts to drag him back towards the kitchen as he lets off another gas attack that sounds like a bicycle puncture. ‘Oh, Dennis, that’s foul. Can you see yourselves out, kids? I’ve got to deal with this dog.’