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Kim hesitated as she thought about getting off the bike and knocking the door. Was this really such a good idea?

As was often the case with her visits here, it hadn’t been a totally conscious decision. More like a gravitational pull that occurred when something was gnawing at the back of her mind.

The front door opened and Ted Morgan stood in the doorway. When she still didn’t move, he headed down the path towards her.

‘You’re here now and the kettle’s on,’ he said before turning and walking back into the house.

Jesus, the man even understood her indecision.

She dismounted and followed him.

A vague frisson of comfort touched her as she moved through the hallway. The wallpaper might have changed, but the framed photos of Ted and his wife remained. They’d enjoyed little more than twenty years together before her early death from cancer, and Ted had never met a woman to match her.

The kitchen was much as she remembered it from her first visit when she’d been six years old. She had sat at the round table with a glass of pop, and there had been a plate of biscuits. She hadn’t touched either and hadn’t spoken a word. That had formed the pattern for many of their counselling sessions over the years, while he had tirelessly worked to gain her trust. And although there were things she’d never share with another living soul, he still knew her better than anyone else in the world.

She removed her jacket and took a seat.

‘Jeez, Ted, how old are those mugs now?’ she asked as he filled them with coffee. Another staple of her past were the cups with local football team logos on them.

‘Nothing wrong with them,’ he said proudly. ‘Not even a chip.’

She smiled as he placed a mug before her and then grabbed a plate containing custard creams and bourbon biscuits.

‘Ted, when have I ever?’ she asked.

‘I’m a dunker and I make no apology for it,’ he said, sitting down on the opposite side of the table.

‘How’re the fish?’ she asked, nodding towards the back door. The bench beside the small pond had been the location of many of their silent sessions.

‘Still swimming in circles, as you’d expect,’ he said, dipping a custard cream into his mug.

‘And retirement?’ she asked. The man hadn’t fully quit until his early seventies and had now been totally work free for a couple of years.

‘Busy. Not sure how I ever had the time to work,’ he said, taking another custard cream.

He dunked, chewed and then pushed the plate away. ‘So, my dear, what ails you?’

‘Nothing; it’s just a visit,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

‘They tend to coincide with something playing on your mind.’

Retirement hadn’t dulled his powers of perception.

‘Come on – out with it. If you don’t, I’ll be tempted to busy myself with more biscuits, and two is enough.’

‘We’re working this case – well, two actually. They’re both focussed heavily on maternal relationships.’

‘Ouch, that must be tricky for you,’ he said then took a good look at her face. ‘Oh, I see. It’s like that.’

‘Just before I left the station, the team were all talking about their mothers, about the thoughts they’ve been having all week. I have nothing, not even anger or regret. The whole thing is evoking absolutely no emotion whatsoever.’

He nodded. ‘Understandable really. You’ve closed that chapter. You knew that when you made the decision not to visit your mother before she passed.’

‘I don’t regret it,’ she defended herself. She had known she had nothing to gain from it. Forgiveness had not been an option.

‘I’m not saying you should regret it. It’s a decision you made, and you’ll stick with it as you always do. I’m saying that your pragmatic mind stuffed all thoughts and emotions on the subject into a box. That box was locked, sealed, wrapped in chains and dumped at the bottom of the sea in an unknown location. It will never be opened again.’

‘But to feel nothing at all,’ Kim pushed. ‘How is that even normal?’

‘Oh, my dear, can you recall a time when we’ve ever used that word in connection with you? I didn’t say it was even close to normal behaviour, but it’s normal for you.’

Ted reached for another biscuit, but she pulled the plate out of his reach. He’d said two was enough.

He rolled his eyes in response.

‘Okay, you feel nothing because you can’t identify with anyone else’s experience. Not one person you know can understand your experience with your mother. Their tales of minor arguments, rebellions or groundings will never compare to you trying to keep yourself and your brother alive. Their enjoyable, positive memories will be met with not one happy memory for you. You can’t connect with what they’re saying. They might as well be talking about their experiences of flying to the moon. You have no reference.’

‘But I had Erica,’ she protested.

‘Thank God for Erica. I’ve often felt that you wouldn’t be sitting here today had it not been for the love of that lady. But that was only three years.’

‘Quality not quantity,’ Kim argued.

‘Ah, it’s not that easy. Mom is normally our history. She’s a constant, like a diary, a journal. Her presence marks important events. She’s there for your first day of school and your last day of college, not to mention everything in between. The relationship changes and adapts over the years and through the different stages of your life, but she’s like a thread that leads from birth to wherever you are now.

‘Mom is the person you can call and ask about that TV show you used to watch together. She’ll know. Mom is the person you can call to check when you went to hospital for your tonsillectomy. She’ll know. What was your favourite food, colour, book, subject at school? She’ll know. You didn’t have that.’

‘So you’re saying that my emotional response to the whole thing is normal, for me?’ she asked, reaching for her jacket. It was all she had wanted to know.

‘I am indeed saying that.’

‘Okay, but you’re wrong about one thing, Ted,’ she said, looking around at the coffee mugs, the biscuit plate and beyond to the garden outside where the fish lived. ‘I did have a constant. I just didn’t know it at the time.’