I steal a glance at Ginika, who’s staring at the buggy blankly, with a million things going through her head.

‘I could bring her out for a walk, just around the streets, we won’t go far,’ Denise offers, keeping her voice light and airy. ‘For a change of scenery.’

I stay out of it. Head down, continue my prep.

Ginika is silent. When she’s pushed, she’s the explosive kind, particularly when it comes to her daughter. Her response, when it comes, surprises both of us.

‘OK.’

Jewel kicks up a lot when placed in the buggy, but then is quickly distracted by the – also new – range of toys that Denise places on the bar. She also attaches her favourite book and Jewel is happy.

Ginika is quiet after they’re gone. She turns away from the workbooks and to the empty play mat on the grass. She seems tired. She is tired. Dark rings around her eyes, she’s lost a lot of weight, with the cancer extended to her liver, bowel and groin. She reaches down to her bag with great effort and I get it for her. She rummages in a package and takes out a lollipop, but I know that it’s nothing sweet. It’s a fentanyl lollipop, for sudden bursts of severe pain.

‘Let’s take a break,’ I say. ‘Do you want to go inside? Maybe it’s too hot.’

‘I don’t want to take a break,’ she snaps.

‘OK. Can I get you anything?’

‘No.’

Silence.

‘Thank you,’ she adds, more gently.

Giving her time, I move my chair out of the shade and finally relax, I sit back in the chair, close my eyes, lift my face to the sky, listen to the birds singing with delight, the bees all around me, scrunch my toes into the hot grass. My crap day begins to dissipate.

‘Did your husband use these?’ she asks.

I open my eyes and see her waving her lolly in the air. ‘No. He was on morphine. Intravenously.’

‘This is stronger,’ she says, sucking. ‘Morphine was making me sick.’

The change from when I met her is startling, but not in the obvious ways. Yes, her body is changing, but so too is her mind. Her body is thinner but her mind is broader. She speaks more personally, when she’s not concentrating on keeping the wall up, and we have proper conversations. She is more confident, self-assured, she knows what she wants. Of course, she always knew that, but she delivers her opinions and emotions differently. She admitted her joy at being able to read the instructions on the medicine label for Jewel’s cough medicine. She reads her a bedtime story every night. Being able to read has made her feel more confident and less lost and confused by the world.

‘I think your house is haunted. Your photographs keep moving.’

I follow her gaze, through the opened patio doors through the dining room and into the living room. I assume she’s referring to the mantelpiece where the photo of Gabriel and me in happier times is gone, replaced by the fallen photograph of Gerry and me, in a smaller frame. I saw her notice it when she arrived, was waiting for the question as soon as her eyes landed on it, but to my surprise she held back.

‘Gabriel and I broke up.’

She looks at me in surprise. ‘Why? Did he cheat?’

‘No. He has a daughter who needs him, she took priority in the end.’ My immediate guilt for painting Gabriel as the bad guy tells me that I know Ava wasn’t the real reason for our break-up. The denial potion is wearing off.

‘What age is she?’

‘Your age,’ I say, connecting this for the first time. Ginika seems light years older.

‘So why does she need him, is she sick?’

‘No, I’d say troubled. In trouble at school, she acts up. Drinking, smoking, partying. Doesn’t get along with her mum and step-dad-to-be. Gabriel thought it would be best if she moved in with him.’

‘Instead of you?’

‘Basically,’ I sigh. ‘Yes.’

‘So because she’s a brat, he dumped you?’

‘She needs stability.’ I try to hide the cynicism from my voice. ‘And he didn’t dump me. I ended it.’ I’m tired of feeding her tidbits, it’s what she does with me and if we keep this up we’ll never get anywhere. I lean in, elbows on the table, face in the shade. ‘I got tired of waiting for him, Ginika. And he wasn’t supportive of me doing this.’

‘Jealousy,’ she nods understandingly, looking at the empty blanket where Jewel’s toys still lie.

‘No.’ I frown, confused. ‘Why do you say jealous?’

‘It’s obvious. Your husband did something amazing that other people are now trying to imitate. He started something pretty big. Your fella can’t compete with a dead husband, can he? No matter how good he is at chopping down trees or anything else. So he says to himself, if she’s gonna spend time with her ex-husband, I’ll move my daughter in instead of her. See how she likes it.’

I look at Ginika in surprise. This is a perspective I had perhaps foolishly not considered.

Could Gabriel have been jealous of Gerry? It makes sense, because isn’t that exactly how I felt about his reunion? ‘Ginika, you’re one of the wisest people I know.’

‘I can’t even spell wisest,’ she mutters, uncomfortable with the praise.

‘I don’t think that’s the definition of wisdom.’

‘What is the definition of wisdom?’

‘I don’t know,’ I smile wryly.

‘Five minutes with me and I’d put his daughter straight,’ Ginika says, defensive of me. ‘I might not have the energy I used to have for a good scrap, but I could ram this lollipop up her arse.’

‘Thank you, Ginika, that’s very moving, but stop trying to be teacher’s pet.’

She winks. ‘I’ve got your back, miss.’

‘And it’s thoughtful. It would both hurt her and relieve the pain.’

She laughs loudly, a real belly laugh, and her face lights up.

‘Can I ask you about Jewel’s dad … again?’ I probe, feeling we’re having a moment.

‘I just want to write a letter.’

‘Sorry.’ I reach for the book.

‘That’s not what I mean,’ she says, hand on top of the book to stop me from opening it. ‘What I mean is, I want Jewel to have a letter, from me. I don’t need you to do any of that reuniting stuff for me like you did for Bert’s wife and her sister.’

‘OK.’ It’s like she’s seen right through me. Does she know? Is she testing me? Was her dad in contact? I can’t let it lie. ‘Ah, about that, Ginika,’ I say nervously. ‘I saw your dad at the weekend.’

Her eyes narrow and I feel the sting of her sharp stare. ‘You what?’

‘I felt as though I wasn’t doing enough, that I—’

‘What did you say? Where did you meet him?’

‘I took the bus. The 66A. You told me that was his route. I sat on the bus, I went all the way to the end and back,’ I explain. ‘Then, as I was getting off, I told him that I know you, that you are wonderful, incredibly brave and one of the most inspiring people I’ve ever met and that he should be immensely proud of you.’

She frowns, examines me to see if I’m telling the truth. ‘What else?’

‘Nothing else. That’s all, I promise. I want your parents to know how amazing you are.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Nothing. I didn’t give him time to speak. I just got off the bus.’

She turns away and absorbs this and I hope I haven’t ruined everything, jeopardised our relationship, which I now realise is a friendship, and one I don’t want to lose. I have definitely overstepped the mark, I can only wonder if she will forgive me for this. There’s not doing enough, as with Paul. And then there’s doing too much, as with Ginika. I need to find the middle ground.

‘When did you see him?’

‘Saturday morning. Ten thirty route.’

‘What did he look like?’ she asks quietly.

‘He was quiet. He was busy, working. He was concentrating. He …’ I shrug.

She looks at me, then really studies me. ‘Are you OK?’

‘No, I’m actually shitting myself that you’re going to kill me.’

She smiles. ‘I might. But no. I mean, are you actually cracked? You spent your Saturday morning sitting on a bus with my dad, for what? For me?’

I nod.

‘Jesus.’

‘I’m sorry.’

She’s quiet. ‘Thank you for telling him that. I don’t think he’s ever heard that about me from anyone before.’ She sits straighter, prouder. ‘Did you speak to my ma as well?’

‘No,’ I hold my hands up in defence. ‘You didn’t tell me where she works.’

‘Thank fuck for that.’

We smile.

‘He has a photo of you at his steering wheel. A school photo. Grey uniform, red tie, cheeky little smile on you.’

‘Yeah,’ she says, disappearing a little. ‘He prefers her.’

‘Which version of you do you prefer?’

‘What?’ she asks, frowning.

‘I’ve been thinking this year that Gerry doesn’t know me now, he never met the person I’ve become. I prefer this version of me, yet I became this way because I lost him. If I ever had the power to undo everything, I wouldn’t want to unravel who I’ve become.’

She ponders that. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. I like me better now.’

And what Ginika has been through to get to this version of herself.

‘I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing. I promise I won’t contact your dad again.’

‘You did the wrong thing,’ she agrees, sucking her lollipop. ‘But it was a nice thing, if not a bit fucking pointless.’

Before the wall goes up, I continue. ‘I was thinking of Jewel, of her future, of where she’ll live and who will provide a life for her. I know you have a foster family, but perhaps there are guardians you know who could care for her. You’re fully in control of that, you know, you’d just need to add it to your …’

‘What?’

‘Your will.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘Have you anyone in mind?’

‘I mean, I …’ I stall. It’s a vulnerable time in her life, I don’t want to be accused of undue influence, not over something as important as this. I sidetrack. ‘Well, her dad for one. Does he know about what’s going on? About Jewel? That you’re sick?’

She glares at me.

‘Sorry.’ I back off. ‘I thought we were having a moment.’

‘You’re having a flippin’ breakdown moment, is what you’re having. Let’s get back to work.’

We open the books and pick up where we left off.

‘Do you ever wish your husband wrote you different letters?’ she asks suddenly in the middle of writing the word love over and over. I’m choosing words that I know she’ll need for her letter to Jewel.

I tense up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘What I said,’ she says bluntly.

‘No.’

‘Liar.’

Irritated, I let her comment pass.

‘Do you know what you’re going to write in your letter yet?’ I ask.

‘I’m working on it,’ she says, head down and concentrating again on her cursive writing. Now it’s: dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear. ‘I know I don’t want it to be anything like Paul’s though,’ she adds when the line is complete.

‘Why not?’ I ask, surprised.

‘Are you serious?’ She eyeballs me again. ‘Paul has every second of his kids’ lives all sewn up, by the sounds of it. Their birthdays, their driving lessons, their weddings, their first days of school, the first day they wipe their own arses. It’s like he thinks he can see exactly who they’re going to be. But what if they’re not that person? I know Jewel better than anyone in the whole wide world. But even I don’t know what she’ll do five minutes from now, never mind tomorrow. It’ll be weird for them, you know?’ She shudders at the thought of their futures. ‘So that’s why I asked you about your husband’s letters. Maybe he got something wrong, that didn’t suit you after he died.’

She’s looking at me again. Her words have hit me with impact and my mind is racing.

‘Because if there’s a letter you didn’t like or something, you should probably tell Paul – not that he’d listen, Mr I Can Do This All By Myself. What is it with the men? Him and Bert. If they wanted their letters delivered, they should’ve hired a courier service. Me? I really need your help.’

‘I don’t know, Ginika,’ I sigh, everything unravelling again. ‘I sometimes wonder who’s teaching who here.’