Brian Morrow was contemplating the back hedge as the washing machine finished its cycle. He’d loaded the clothes in wrong and the final spin was noisy, the weight of the clothes pulling the machine off center, the vibrations rattling the big kitchen window. That hedge needed plant food or something. The leaves were yellowing and it was supposed to be an evergreen. He turned back to his list on the table, found a pencil and wrote “see to hedge” at the bottom. He stopped and ticked off the things he had already done: the washing, sort linen cupboard, eat lunch. He didn’t forget to eat anymore, he just put lunch in there so he would have another thing to tick off, give himself a feeling of accomplishment. The counselor had said it was important to achieve things in the day and advised him to make up a list the night before, a modest list, and then try to fulfill it. It would give him a sense of purpose and accomplishment. He didn’t really need the list now, but he enjoyed it.

The noisy spin cycle abated and Brian heard the doorbell through the rattle. He put his list on the table and walked out to the hall. A shadow behind the glass door. A man, not carrying a package, not delivering anything. A bulky man.

Brian opened the door.

The man was tall, a bit fat, dressed in dark tracksuit trousers and a sweatshirt. “Can I help you?”

He nodded and Brian suddenly saw his wife’s face in him, the dimples, the chin, the stubbled halo on his head was the familiar honey yellow. It was Danny McGrath. “I’m—”

“I know.” Brian pulled the door shut a little, letting him know he wasn’t welcome. He had come here when he knew that Alex would be at work, knew that she wasn’t there to tell him off. He knew Brian was at home. He knew, Brian felt, that he’d had a breakdown and was vulnerable. His mind ran through the house: they kept no money in the house, Alex didn’t like jewelry, he had no social security books.

“What are you doing here?”

“Heard something about you,” said Danny. “Brought you something.”

He stepped back from the doorway. Behind him on the step was a giant box with Mamas and Papas tape around it and the receipt sellotaped onto the top. It was a buggy for twins. They’d looked at buggies online and Brian knew it was the most expensive one.

“Oh.” But he pulled the door shut a fraction more.

Alex didn’t want baby furniture in the house in case they lost the babies. She didn’t want Brian to meet Danny. She’d be upset that he’d been here.

Danny stepped in front of the box again and looked over Brian’s head into the hall. “Can I come in and talk to you?”

“No, Alex wouldn’t like it.”

“No? Doesn’t want me here?” Annoyed, he looked away.

Brian looked over his shoulder to the street. “Would you like her coming to your house when you weren’t in?”

Danny didn’t answer.

“You wouldn’t like it. You’d be suspicious if she came to your house specifically when she knew you’d be out.”

Danny looked down his face at Brian, his mouth turned down as though he found him sickening. He rolled his head away, looking back out into the street. “Wee man at nursery?”

“Wee man?”

“Your son.”

“Are you here to threaten me?”

“I’m not threatening ye,” he leaned in, “I’m just asking how your son is.”

Brian nodded. “My son?”

“Aye, what’s his name? Gerald, is it?”

Brian stared at him. What’s his name. He stared too long at Danny’s mouth. He was scared but he squared up to Danny McGrath in honor of Gerald. It was a moment stolen from the future he and Gerald would never have. It was the gesture of a good dad, the shooting of the mad dog in the street with a single shot, scaring the bullies off, putting down the spiteful teacher. Brian pointed to the box with the twin buggy in it. “Get that out of here.”

Astonished, Danny looked from the box to Brian, awaiting an explanation.

Brian kept his eyes on the box. “Gerald died. Two years ago.” The box was navy blue and gray, blurred, a photo of two smiling identical babies on it. “Meningitis. Sudden.”

Danny couldn’t look at Brian. He coughed and covered half his face with his hand.

“Yeah,” said Brian who was used to it. “So, you can imagine how nervous we are about this pregnancy, twins and so on. I don’t want Alex getting upset. We can well do without this.” He pointed Danny up and down, realized it was insulting and shifted his finger over to the buggy.

“Aye,” Danny looked at the box, “and, um, some people don’t like to have baby stuff in their house before it comes.”

“It’s not just that,” said Brian. “You, coming here, what’s your business here? Leave us alone. Go away.”

But Danny shook his head. “I can’t go away,” he said heavily, “I need your help.”

They sat in the kitchen sipping instant coffee and eating malted milk biscuits. Danny was trembling and Brian hadn’t the heart to leave him on the step. It didn’t seem to be about Gerald—Danny had never met him—but about some grief of his own.

He sipped his coffee, which he took weak with three sugars. He seemed smaller in the kitchen. Not threatening, just poor, as if no one had ever shown him how to dress properly. He looked much older than Alex, not on his features, but his skin looked tired and dry. It looked like a smoker’s skin.

“This is a nice house.”

Brian looked around the kitchen. It was a plain house. A nineteen thirties semi with a circular window in the hall and long wide windows front and back.

“I always wanted to be from a house like this.”

Brian was from a house like this. That’s why he liked it so much when they viewed it. Alex liked it because of the light—the garden was south facing and they were on a hill so it streamed in the back of the house—and the area was quiet.

They did nothing to it when they moved in, happy to settle for what was there; the wooden eighties kitchen, the plain bathroom, the orange walls in the hall.

“Quiet here,” said Danny.

Brian pushed the plate of biscuits over to him. There was only one left. Danny looked at him and Brian nodded him on. He took it. It was a child’s biscuit. They bought them for Alex’s indigestion.

“She doesn’t want you here.”

Danny took another bite. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Why are you?”

He chewed the biscuit and sipped his coffee. “My son,” he said.

Brian nodded. “Young John?”

“Aye,” said Danny. “I need her to speak to the woman, she needs to know what the boy’s been through and I need you to tell Alex something from me—”

“I don’t know if I’m going to,” interrupted Brian.

Danny took it in, nodded. “OK.” He finished his coffee and put the cup down carefully on the table, turning it by the rim. “There’s a case she’s involved in, someone involved in it came to see me. They came to me, want me to pressure her to stop looking into it.”

Brian didn’t understand. “You asking her to stop?”

“No,” said Danny sincerely. “I’m warning her. If they’re coming to see me they’ll maybe see other people. I want her to know she’s getting warned off the Murray boys.”

Brian was reluctant to suggest it so he left a pause. “Are you warning her off?” he said as if he was guessing.

Danny looked skeptical. “I’m not stupid, as if that would work.”

They smiled at each other until Danny broke it off. “Just tell her: there’s stuff going on in the background she doesn’t know about. The Murray boys are good boys. But someone’s desperate.”

Brian watched through the front window as the Audi pulled away. It was a four-by-four and the windows were shaded: a gangster’s car. He watched it drive slowly out of the cul de sac and stop at the end of the road, signal and turn back into the city.