Page 5

He is sitting on his own, not looking at any of the books or toys in front of him, not moving – until there’s a cross shout, making him jump. The man with the two little girls says something sharply to the boy swinging the plastic sword around. Willow pulls back into himself, looking nervous.

Lara immediately steps into the room and heads over to him, sits down next to him and reassures him. She opens a book, but he doesn’t look at it. He’s looking towards the door.

A young woman pushing a trolley approaches along the corridor and the security man smiles and jokes with her, helping to open the door and holding it for her. I step out of the way. There’s food on the trolley: chicken nuggets and chunky oven chips on worn plastic patterned plates.

The son with the phone stands and takes a plate, then joins his parents and the big teddy bear and offers the little girl the plate. She shakes her head, and he withdraws it and eats the chips, then the nuggets.

The boy with the sword is temporarily distracted by the chips and nuggets but refuses to sit down. Neither of the people with him seem inclined to leave their phones and pay attention to him.

Lara fetches a plate from the trolley and a plastic knife and fork and brings them over to Willow. She puts the food in front of him, but he shakes his head. He’s not interested.

‘There’s chocolate mousse for afters,’ I hear her say. The young man in the tracksuit has already returned to take his portion, or rather his daughter’s.

Lara goes to the trolley, picks up a pot of mousse and takes it to Willow, but he doesn’t touch that either. She comes back to join me.

‘So, where is he staying now? I mean, what’s happening with him?’ I ask.

‘Well, his mum is being cared for, but she’s really not well, and it would be too distressing for Willow to see her right now. And he seems to understand this. At the point he was taken into care, although he was trying to care for her, she could be quite aggressive towards him. As could her companions.’

I swallow.

‘Would he want to talk to me?’ I ask apprehensively.

‘We could try. Take the brownies.’ Lara smiles again.

I follow her, feeling nervous but reminding myself that I’m not as terrified as Willow must be right now. I take a deep breath and follow Lara’s lead.

‘Willow, I’ve brought someone to meet you,’ she says.

‘Hi, Willow. I’m Gwen. I’m . . .’ Why would he care that I’m his second cousin’s wife? It’s not like we’re closely related. But then, as Lara says, I am the only family member he has right now, albeit very distant – which makes this all so much sadder. I pull myself together and decide to explain what little I can to him. ‘I knew your mum,’ I say, thinking back to our wedding. Paddy’s family came to that. Willow’s mum was very young.

He finally looks up with big, sad, brown eyes.

‘My husband, Paddy, was her cousin,’ I say. ‘They had the same grandmother. Your mum came to our wedding. She was lovely when I met her, great fun. And she could do brilliant handstands, I remember seeing her do them at the party afterwards.’ I catch Lara’s eye, hoping I’m saying the right things, and she nods almost imperceptibly. ‘. . . I heard you did a really good job of looking after her when she got ill.’

His eyes darken now, and he looks away. I’ve said the wrong thing.

‘I . . . er, I brought you some brownies,’ I say, pulling them out from my big shoulder bag and holding them towards him. He doesn’t move. I put the brownies down on the table, on top of the little stack of books he hasn’t touched.

‘Well, it would be really nice to stay in touch, Willow,’ I say. ‘Perhaps we could write, or email.’ He looks down, not answering. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk to me. ‘And if you like the brownies, I could bring you more,’ I plough on. ‘If it’s allowed. Or maybe I could pass them on to Lara to bring to you.’

He’s now completely disengaged; he’s physically shrunk back, away from me, into his shell.

I look at Lara, who tilts her head and gives a sad little shrug. I don’t want to push Willow into talking to me if he doesn’t want to. I don’t want to make him feel any worse.

‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Willow,’ I say. ‘I have to get back to the farm now. My dog, Tegan, will be waiting for me. And the ducks.’

He looks up.

‘How many ducks?’ he asks, taking me by surprise, as if a door has opened just a little to reveal a chink of light.

I smile. ‘Three.’

He nods. ‘Not that many, then.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘not that many.’

And the door that had been opened is closed again.