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“You can do this,” he said, returning with something that looked vaguely familiar. Clothes that had once belonged to a man called Dylan. “I know you can. Just a little at a time, but it starts now. A bit of a clean. Small steps. Then tonight, you’ll see it will all feel a little bit better.”

“You sound like my therapist,” I grunted.

“Good.” He smiled. “Another piece of toast, and then I expect those pants on and some enthusiastic scrubbing. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal?” I huffed, showering the table with crumbs. It seemed I had forgotten my table manners as well. Did it matter?

Apparently not, as I nodded like the fool I was.

5. Stewart

He was a strange little man, Dylan. Skittish and seemingly unsure of everything around him, reluctant to even step close to the staircase up to the main house. I didn’t really blame him because upstairs was all musty smells and dust. I hadn’t dared to open the fridge door but had run the washing machine on empty to get rid of what was clearly mould on the door seal.

Simple hygiene. Something this man had no doubt once mastered, since the kitchen cupboards were neatlystacked. I’d noticed when I’d had a little look around, still not convinced he wasn’t hiding bodies up here.

No bodies. Just the remnants of what had once been a family home. Toys and clothes put away in the children’s rooms; what had once been the living room, now a space full of boxes. Papers and folders were piled in the master bedroom on the top floor. Yeah, I was nosy, and I told him that when I reported back that there were no leaks or damage, no squatters trashing his house and suggested he should turn on the heating for a bit, since it felt so cold and unloved up there.

He squirmed at that comment, and with every well-meant sentence that got that response, I was building a picture.

Money. He simply had none left, and I could understand that. He wasn’t working and had fought all these court cases, travelling back and forth—I didn’t even want to think about potential child support payments that now had him sitting here like a broken spare part. He had to snap out of this. Easier said than done.

But he did as he was told, even if he did protest while doing it, and I liked that. There was still some go in him, and I used it to the max. Gave him simple chores, therapeutic tasks like scrubbing out the sink, wiping down thesurfaces while I hoovered around. Even the beds upstairs were now bare mattresses as the washing machine did round after round.

He made me a cup of tea. I took that as a massive win, despite having to provide the milk from across the lawn.

“I think we should call it a day now,” I decided, having forced him back outside to sit on his patio. No crying. What a difference twenty-four hours could make.

“Thank you,” he said. He wouldn’t look at me, still full of shame and embarrassment, which was a good thing, and I told him as much. He clearly didn’t believe me.

“So what now?” he asked.

“I think…” I said that a lot. Perhaps I should extend my vocabulary. “We take a stroll down to Tesco. Get supplies. Then we go over to my place and cook. I put those other sheets in the wash to freshen them up, and they still have another hour in the tumble dryer.”

“You’re so domestic it scares me.”

“I’ve run things on my own for years. My son and his husband aren’t exactly domestic gods, and Agnes who used to help us had her third baby last year, so she’s not as available as she used to be. In a way, I suppose redundancy came in handy, both for myself and my son. Hehasn’t worked since but is instead studying for a degree. He wants to finally finish school and make something else of his life. I’m too old for all that.”

“We’re never too old to learn something new,” he argued softly. “Your son and his husband?”

“Yes, husband,” I repeated sharply. I wasn’t having any stupidity here. “Is that an issue?”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I just never…paid attention to what was happening beyond these walls.”

“That’s city life, isn’t it? We live next door to each other on this tiny, gated road, and, well, I sometimes say hello to Mrs Aziz, but she spends most of her time in Dubai now, so that house is empty apart from her maid, who comes and goes. And the Fitzgibbons only step out of their car and scurry inside. I don’t think either of them has ever said hello to me. Who’s that guy again in number ten?”

He stared at me blankly.

“Mr Parsons,” I filled in. “Plastic surgeon. The kids say he looks like a robot. Rude, I know, but I have to agree with them.”

He twitched again at the mention of the kids. Something I intended to fix.

“I will be mentioning the grandchildren, and my son, a lot. It’s something I can’tnotdo.”

Nods. Acceptance with a small sigh. Hard work, this man, but once in a while, there would be a small smile, like the real him was still somewhere on the inside. He must have been a successful human at some point. Confident. Happy. I wondered what he’d been like, in his former life as a father, husband, lawyer.

“Tell me about your work,” I tried.

“No,” he said. “Talk about your family instead. Less painful.”