The next morning, Chloe ate a croissant with her hangover and said she had to go. Joe-Nathan wore his pyjamas at breakfast and poured himself a bowl of cereal.
‘I have only eaten cereal since my mum died,’ he said.
‘Maybe you should do some shopping,’ said Chloe. She swirled the dregs of some tea in the bottom of her cup and cleared her throat a few times. ‘I’m sorry about being sick and sleeping in your living room. And I feel like I should stay with you but I really have to go.’ Chloe winced at her own words; she could stay, if she made a few phone calls, but she didn’t want to, and it was as simple and selfish as that. Shit, she thought, who died and made me the babysitter? She thought of Janet and felt really, really guilty.
‘It is okay, I want you to go,’ said Joe.
‘Oh!’ Chloe laughed.
‘It is not normal, you being here, and I want normal things.’
‘Yeah, course. That’s great. You want me to call you later and check how you get on this afternoon with Lucy, at the hospital?’
‘No. That is not normal,’ said Joe.
‘I’ll give you my number, just in case,’ said Chloe. Joe fetched the address book from the kitchen drawer; she wrote her number, drew a small picture of a smiley face next to it, and left.
Joe watched three Cheerios floating in the milk at the bottom of his bowl and decided not to eat them. He suddenly thought of them as a family and didn’t want to separate or destroy them, but ultimately, something awful was going to happen, whether they were eaten or thrown in the bin. At least they were together. He washed them down the sink and wondered why anyone would name a cereal after another word for goodbye.
He was just running the tap to flush the milk away when there was a knock at the front door. He stopped the tap and turned, facing the front of the house. He held his breath, waited. The knock came again. A knock at the front door. He was frightened. Whoever was there was not someone he knew well because only strangers came to the front door, and his mum had usually answered it to people selling religion or expensive kitchen cleaners and somebody once who was looking for a lost cat. Joe stood very still, waiting for whoever it was to go away. No one would stay at the front door if no one answered it.
He had just begun to breathe again and turn back to the sink when the knock came again. He jumped and the bowl nearly slipped out of his hands. He placed it very quietly on the draining board and crept towards the hallway, peering around the corner from the kitchen and tip-toeing closer to the door. He had only taken a few steps when the letterbox snapped open and a pair of eyes caught him.
‘He’s in!’ said an abrupt voice, and the letterbox snapped closed. It opened again moments later and a second pair of eyes found him hovering in the hallway.
‘Ah, Joe,’ said a softer, lady’s voice. ‘It’s me, Hazel. Angus is here too. Will you let us in?’
Joe didn’t move. He knew that Hazel and Angus were safe people, but he had never opened the front door and invited a visitor into the house without his mum present. He wanted them to go away. He couldn’t deal with visitors on his own. He closed his eyes.
The letterbox snapped shut again and he could hear their voices on the other side of the door. First there was the soft voice of Hazel, her words were like butter, melting away before he could work them out; then the second voice, Angus. His voice was like the knife in the butter and each word cut through, so that he heard one half of their conversation:
‘Mmm mmm hmm,’ was all Joe could hear of Hazel’s voice.
‘Tell him, then,’ said Angus.
‘Hmm mm hmm,’ she said. Joe could still not make out her softly spoken words.
‘Just tell him that she sent us.’ Angus sounded a little cross now.
Then there was a moment’s silence before the letterbox opened again. ‘Joe, darling, we heard about what happened to your mum and so we have come to see you. Janet sent us.’
Mum sent them? Joe thought. How?
‘Come to the back door,’ he managed to say and he heard them walking round the side of the house.
Hazel and Angus were illuminated by the golden light under the awning at the back door. Hazel smiled sadly and Angus stood bracingly: legs apart, lips pursed in a way that made him seem busy and efficient. He was holding a box, the lid held closed by a wide, light-blue ribbon, like a present for a newborn boy.
‘Can we come in?’
‘Yes,’ said Joe.
‘Where shall I put this?’ Angus asked.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s quite clearly a box, is what it is, Joe. I would think that was obvious.’
‘Perhaps you could take it through to the lounge, and then we can all sit in there comfortably,’ said Hazel, laying a patient hand on Angus’ shoulder.
Joe led the way and sat in his usual chair. Hazel straightened the cushions – which were all bunched up at one end of the sofa following Chloe’s sleepover – and opened the window a crack.
‘I’m going to make a lovely big pot of tea. You boys chat, and I’ll put a brew on.’
Angus and Joe were left alone together. The box sat on the coffee table and Joe stared at it. Angus sighed heavily a few times and finally spoke.
‘Why is it that the chattiest person always leaves the idiots who can’t make conversation alone together? I should be making the bloody tea.’
Joe just looked at Angus.
‘Not you, Joe, you’re not an idiot. I’m talking about me.’
‘We do not have to make conversation,’ said Joe.
Angus gave Joe a rare smile. ‘How you doing, mate? Bad news about your mum. She was a good person.’
‘I do not know how I am doing,’ said Joe. ‘I am just waiting for things to happen. When the clock gets to a certain place, I know to do things. In between those times, I just wait. But there has not been much in-between time yet.’
Angus nodded gently and continuously and said, ‘Aye’ several times in a meaningful way in response to nothing obvious, until Hazel returned with the tray of tea things, then he shot up and took the tray from her. Hazel picked up the box from the table, so he had room to put it down, and then she sat with the box in her lap.
‘Shall I be mother, then?’ Angus said, leaning forward and lifting the pot.
‘Angus!’ said Hazel.
‘Oh Jesus, sorry about that, Joe,’ said Angus. ‘Just a turn of phrase.’
‘Dear Joe,’ said Hazel, and Joe liked the way it sounded as though she were reading a letter to him. ‘I’m so, so sorry about your mum. She was very much loved and we’ll miss her.’ Now her face crumpled like an old apple, ‘But no one will miss her as much as you. You were her life, you know.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Joe.
‘And she always worried that if – when – she died, things would be difficult for you. She tried to prepare you, as best she knew how. Oh damnit,’ she said, and fetched a tissue from her cardigan sleeve, wiping away tears as though they were an inconvenience. She sniffed and sat up straighter. ‘Anyway, she gave me – us – this box. She gave it to me to start with, but I’m even older than your mum, so, just in case, we brought Angus on board, to be a guardian of the box too.’
‘An afterthought,’ said Angus, raising his eyebrows at Joe. Joe frowned.
‘Not at all, not an afterthought; more like backup, a safety net,’ said Hazel. ‘Are you with me?’
‘What?’ said Joe.
‘Do you understand?’
‘Understand what?’
‘This box is from your mum,’ she said, patting the top of it. ‘To be given to you in the event of her death.’