I hadn’t locked the door after Daniel left, so Mona was able to walk right in and find me in the greenhouse studio. The Professor didn’t like me leaving the door unlocked when I was home alone. It wasn’t so much that we lived in a dangerous neighbourhood. He just got nervous because it was me, in my wheelchair, or hobbling about with the aid of a pair of canes. It was also why he’d gotten me the cell phone, which he insisted I always keep close at hand.

“Jeez, gloomy much?” Mona said as she came into the darkened room.

She shed her coat by the door and took off her cap, ruffling her short blonde hair so that it stood up around her head. Her usual inch or so of dark roots were missing, which only meant she’d taken the time to dye her hair recently.

“There are some candles by the laptop,” I said. “Along with a box of matches.”

Mona smiled. “That is so you. Working on your laptop by candlelight.”

“Remember my first computer?”

“An Etch-a-Sketch board attached to the back of a typewriter does not a computer make.”

She found a couple of candleholders, stuck candles in and lit them.

“There we go,” she said, setting them on the worktable closer to where I was sitting.

My reflection was stronger in the window now, the garden behind the panes turned into dark mystery. A faint hint of cedar rose from the scented candles. Mona fetched Sophie’s chair and rolled it over so that she could sit near me.

“Do you want something to drink?” I asked.

“What do you have?”

“Tea or coffee that you have to make. Juice, pop and beer. Or we could open a bottle of wine.”

“From Bramley’s cellar?”

The Professor kept a decent wine cellar, though it was Goon who stocked it, coming back from the wine store with boxes of rare vintages that he happily stowed away in the basement. Goon wouldn’t say a thing about me sharing a bottle with Mona, but he would know. He had such a radar for that kind of thing that he’d probably know the moment he came into the house.

“Where else?” I said.

“Red or white?”

“Red.”

“Be right back.”

I listened to her in the kitchen when she got back from the basement, taking glasses from the cupboard, rattling around in one of the cutlery drawers to find the opener, the pop of the cork when she pulled it out.

“To Bramley and Goon,” she said when she got back, clinking her glass against mine.

“To generosity and good taste,” I said.

Mona smiled. “Same difference.”

We sipped our wine. As usual, it was exquisite.

“So, what happened?” Mona asked. “Or would you rather not talk about it?”