Mum smiled across at her. ‘You’re cold because you don’t eat enough, and that’s what’s happening next – toast.’

Karyn packed the game away and got Holly some paper and pens instead. Mum made four cups of tea and buttered some toast, even spread it with jam and cut it into squares. She placed Karyn’s plate gently on the table in front of her.

‘It’s ages since I saw you eat anything,’ she said.

Karyn sighed with pleasure and picked up a square of toast. Easy as that.

She looked happier than Mikey had seen her for days. He knew why. She thought every day was going to be as cheery as this from now on. She thought Mum would save her.

It was easy to believe as they sat there together, sipping their tea and eating toast. Things had been better since Gillian’s visit on Monday. Mum had sobered up and collected Holly, then phoned the social worker to apologize. Monday night, she’d sat down with the three of them and promised never to disappear like that again. ‘Everything’s going to be different from now on,’ she said.

Over the last four days she’d spring‑cleaned the hallway, the lounge and the kitchen. The whole flat was beginning to look bigger and brighter. Over the weekend she planned to work her way upstairs. Mikey knew what would happen then. She’d fill dustbin bags with old toys and clothes. She’d get ridiculous with it, start throwing things away that people still wanted. Mikey remembered his denim jacket going that way last year, and Holly weeping for hours over her football card collection. Next week, if Mum still hadn’t run out of energy, she might get the local paper and look for jobs. She’d circle them, maybe cut them out and put them in a pile somewhere. And then she’d start saying stuff about how they all took her for granted, how nothing good ever happened to her. And then she’d give herself a little reward – maybe a cheap bottle of red from Ajay’s over the road. ‘Just the one,’ she’d say.

And round and round they’d go again. It was so predictable.

‘OK, Mum,’ he said, ‘a little test before I go. Monday morning. Ding‑dong,  there’s the social worker again, all smiles, wanting to help. You’ve been cleaning for days and in she comes, very impressed. First question: Why has Holly been off school?’

‘She won’t ask me that.’

‘She might. What will you say?’

‘I’ll say she was sick.’

‘What was wrong with her?’

‘She had a headache.’

‘Kids don’t get headaches.’

Mum moved the ashtray a centimetre to the left, matched the lighter with the edge of the table, making patterns. ‘It’s all right, I can handle it. I told you, it’s going to be different now.’

‘Tell them a fever and a cough, or that she kept throwing up. Not a headache. And don’t smoke in front of her.’

He knew how important his mum’s fags were, how they kept her calm. He knew he was being unkind.

‘Stop worrying,’ she said. ‘It’s only a support visit, nothing else. I’ll sit by the window. I’ll tell her I never do it with Holly around.’

‘Show her the smoke alarm,’ Holly said, pointing up at the ceiling with the end of her felt‑tip pen.

Mikey followed her gaze. Sober for days, and a tidy flat was one thing, but a fully‑installed and working smoke alarm was definitely something new.

Mum grinned at him. ‘You’re impressed.’

He couldn’t help smiling back.

She glanced at the clock. ‘Go and have fun, Mikey. Go on, you’ve done enough.’

He checked his mobile. No new messages, but that was OK. It was all agreed. Two‑thirty at Ellie’s house. He’d leave in a few minutes.

‘Like my drawing?’ Holly said.

She held it up for them all to see. It was Karyn, outside with her hair streaming behind her in the wind. She was holding a piece of string with a dragon on the end and a flaming sword.

‘Nice picture,’ Karyn said.

Holly smiled, carefully tore the page from her book and laid it on the table. ‘I’m going to draw you at school next.’

‘Let me keep the dragon,’ Karyn laughed. ‘I’ll need it if you’re sending me back there.’

Mikey took the plates to the kitchen, had a quick look in the fridge while he was there. It was stuffed – juice and yoghurts, cheese and milk, all sorts. Mum had even bought a pack of bacon and some sausages.

By the time he’d washed up the plates, all three of them were huddled together on the sofa watching a re‑run of TopGear ‑  some mountain climber was talking about how he got frostbite and later, after surgery, he had a very hot bath and his toe came off and he left it on the side of the sink for his wife to find. They cackled like witches at it. Mikey smiled, wanted to leave them with something. He went over and put ten quid on the table.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘get yourselves a DVD and some sweets.’

You’d think he’d given them a fortune, the way they passed it between them.

He almost didn’t want to leave. It wasn’t that long ago when this would have been his idea of a perfect Saturday afternoon and he’d happily have squeezed in with them on the sofa.

‘I’ll be off then.’

Mum raised her cup of tea. ‘Have a lovely time.’

Twenty‑two

Ellie blushed, actually blushed, when she opened the door. Mikey wanted to sweep her up and kiss her, but he had to save that until they were safely away from the house.

‘Ready?’ he said.

She smiled apologetically. ‘Not yet. I haven’t made the picnic.’

‘We’ll get fish and chips.’

She wagged a finger at him. ‘Every adventure has a picnic. Come inside, it’ll only take a few minutes.’

‘Why don’t I wait in the car?’

She shook her head. ‘There’s nobody home, don’t worry.’

What choice did he have?

When Ellie closed the door behind them, a dim blue light shone through the coloured glass and splashed the floor. There were paintings on the wall and a statue on a stand – a man and a woman wrapped together. Mikey touched it with a finger, surprised at how smooth it felt.

‘It’s not real,’ Ellie said.

He pulled his hand away, embarrassed.

‘It’s a copy. Well, of course it’s a copy. No one has a real Rodin.’

He nodded, as if that was obvious, mentally cursing himself for knowing nothing about anything.

She led him through a sitting room – sofa, chairs, display cabinet full of family photos (Ellie looking sexy with a swimming trophy) – through to the kitchen, right at the back of the house and smaller than he remembered. On the table was a chopping board, bread, various things for the picnic all spread out. The back door was open and beyond was the garden, that cool expanse of green that amazed him again with its endless lawn and trees.

A dog lay on a blanket and flapped its tail sleepily at them. It was an old dog, with grey hair round its nose. Here was something he recognized at least. He knew what to do with dogs.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Stan, but she’s a girl.’

‘Does she bite?’

‘Only if you’re a biscuit. Stroke her if you like. No one else gives her any attention.’

Girls liked blokes who liked animals and he didn’t even have to pretend. He took great care, was gentle and slow. The dog turned belly up and let him fuss her. Mikey smiled, forgetting where he was for a minute. ‘She’s a lovely dog.’

‘She’s my gran’s. We’ve got her goldfish as well.’

He glanced up quickly. ‘Is your gran here?’

‘No, no, she’s in a nursing home. Cup of tea while you wait, or do you want something else?’

His heart thumped. ‘What have you got?’

‘Wait there.’

She wasn’t gone long. He heard her run down the hallway, heard a door open and shut. She came back with a bottle of wine and passed it over. She was trying to impress him.

He unscrewed the top, took a couple of gulps and passed it back. She tipped the bottle to her mouth and took the smallest of sips. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.