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“I tried.” Her laughter made me feel better. Lighter.

“Shall I come over at eight in the morning? I’ll bring nice coffee and something to nibble on. Just like the old days. I have no expectations, but it would be nice to see you.”

I didn’t know if I was ready for that. I wasn’t ready for anything.

“I don’t care if the house is a pigsty, or if you’ve forgotten to wear pants again.”

Oops. I’d forgotten about that little incident.

“I’ll wear pants. I’ll even wear a shirt and tie.”

Would I? Had I actually agreed to this?

I apparently had, as I was awoken the next morning by the front door opening and closing and the clatter of high heels against the hardwood floors.

It took me a while to get my head working. My heart was beating too fast again as memories of Veronica and the children, of laughter and little feet, overtook me, only to be brutally yanked back into reality with the realisation that it was either Jean upstairs or a burglar.

Jean had a key, since I’d apparently given her one in a moment of terror, not knowing if I’d make it to the morning. There had been incidents, ones I didn’t want to think about. Also shame. Because nobody wants to have to admit that they’ve completely failed at life and lived to tell the tale.

And there was the sharp rap on the door at the top of the stairs.

“Morning, Dylan.”

“Coming.”

She wasn’t my mother, and I wasn’t a child. I also didn’t have any decent clothes down here, so I had to once again turn up in my loungewear.

“Clothes, Mr Scotland.”She tutted.

“Mr Scotland.” I sighed.

“Well, this is work. We need clean clothes and a cheerful attitude.”

“They are actually clean. I have proper attire in the tumble dryer,” I lied.

“Wonderful.”

Jean was a delight. She always had been since the first day she’d turned up for her job interview in a too-small business suit and sky-high heels. She hadn’t changed, only become a little more rounded in her choice of attire, her elaborate hairdos now replaced with a sleek, grey bob.

It suited her, and I complimented her as if on automatic, but for once, I actually meant it.

“You should meet my neighbour. He’s a very handsome gentleman. Would be right up your street, Jean.”

“Matchmaking already? It’s not even eight thirty, Dylan. I brought you coffee from Graziano’s and some of those sourdough baps you like. Extra ham.”

“You remembered,” I said, eyeing up the bags on the kitchen counter like I’d never seen food before.

“I need to fatten you up a bit. You’re far too skinny.”

“You’re not my mother.”

“No, I’m not,” she said mock-sternly, “but your dear mother would be highly upset if she saw you like this. Don’t disgrace her memory by becoming a slob, Dylan.”

“I’m not a slob. I’m just in a state.”

I smirked at myself, matching her eye roll.

“That you are. But we’re working on that, aren’t we?”