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doesn’t exist.’
    Hector watches me. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘It’s a shame going to the city upsets you.’
    I pause. ‘It must be getting serious.’
    ‘They live together,’ Hector says. ‘I’d say that’s pretty serious.’
    ‘But she hasn’t met his mother,’ I say.
    Hector doesn’t reply. We both look at the television screen.
    ‘Did he want me to call him?’ I say.
    ‘He said there’s no need.’ I feel a sharp stab then, of being left out again. I remember the sounds of laughter from Hector’s study, the gaps of contented thought, then the horrible click of the chess pieces.
    ‘I’ll go to the market in the morning, then,’ I say.
    ‘I’m sure we have enough food in the fridge,’ Hector says.
    I glance at him. ‘I want to make halibut stew,’ I say. ‘It’s Kylan’s first time home in three months and I want to make his favourite.’ It almost sounds like I am pleading.
    I wait. Finally, Hector nods.
    ‘I’ve invited my mother,’ he says.
    I sigh. ‘But where is everyone going to sleep?’ I ask.
    ‘Put Kylan and Katya in the guest room and my mother in Kylan’s room.’
    ‘Kylan can’t sleep in the guest room,’ I say.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘It’s not his room.’
    Hector half smiles. ‘I doubt he’ll mind.’
    I mind.
    ‘I better go and get the rooms ready,’ I say, moving to get up.
    ‘Can’t you do that tomorrow?’
    I sit back down.
    Hector turns back to the television, his jaw tight. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch for the signs: the drooping eyelids, the slowing of his breathing. He is drifting off. When I am sure he is asleep, I leave the room.
    I walk upstairs and along the corridor to Kylan’s room. My watch says eight thirty. Through the crack in the door, I think I see his small body curled under the dinosaur duvet cover. Though the light still glows at the edges of the curtains, it’s bedtime. On the chest of drawers a small golden trophy stands: one he recently won in a handball tournament at school. His sandy hair rests on the pillow and I step forward, longing to stroke it until he falls asleep. Then I see a younger Hector, leaning over the bed, and I take a step back.
    ‘What’s the matter, Kylan?’ Hector is saying.
    At first, Kylan doesn’t answer, and I see his head shake on the pillow; he covers his face with his hands.
    ‘What’s up? You can tell me.’
    Still nothing. Inwardly, I smile. Hector thinks he’s so good at this.
    ‘I won’t tell your mother.’
    Kylan lifts his head up from the pillow, takes his hands away from his face, and looks at his father. He speaks softly, but I still hear him.
    ‘She won’t tell me about them,’ he says.
    I remember, then, Kylan’s upturned face with his father’s blue eyes and the smattering of freckles. I was silent at first, pretending I hadn’t heard him, but he kept pushing and pushing me, as he did when he wanted something from the supermarket.
Please, Mum, please, Mum, please, Mum.
I snapped and told him to shut up. I didn’t want to lie to him, my son. He was silent then, staring out of the window at the green fields. His silence continued through teatime, and bedtime, and he refused to say good night to me when I came to tuck him in. I pleaded with him, my voice full of trapped tears, but he still didn’t speak a word to me.
    ‘She won’t tell you about who?’ Hector asks.
    ‘She won’t tell me about her mummy and daddy,’ Kylan says.
    Hector is silent.
    ‘Everyone else at school has two sets,’ he says. ‘I only have Granny. It’s not fair.’
    I sigh. It can’t be true that everyone has four grandparents.
    ‘Mummy’s parents are dead,’ Hector says finally. ‘They died when she was younger, before I met her. She doesn’t like to talk about it because it makes her sad.’
    Hector sits on the edge of the bed, his arm snaked over Kylan’s side.
    ‘How did they die?’ Kylan asks.
    ‘They were in a car accident,’ he says. ‘Don’t ask Mummy about it any more. We