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He ate the four-egg omelette she made him in just a few bites. It was a marvel of nature; if she ate like him she’d be twenty pounds heavier in a matter of weeks. Days, maybe. It reminded her of a nature documentary she’d seen about some kind of nesting seabird off the coast of Maine. The parents spent ninety percent of their time fishing to feed the chicks; she couldn’t remember the statistic but it was along the lines that in their fastest growth period they ate their bodyweight every two days. Sometimes it felt like Otis was doing the same thing.

He passed his plate to her. ‘I love omelettes.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘Where’s Ryan?’

‘Gone to bed,’ she said.

‘I think I’m going to go to bed as well.’

‘I’m coming up in a minute. Have a good night. Love you.’

‘I will. Love you, too.’ He paused. ‘Have you seen my AirPods?’

She almost laughed. He had a part-worried, part-hopeful expression. The worry was because he didn’t want to be judged for losing them. He had spent the money his grandparents had given him at Christmas on AirPods; she had suggested he get a cheaper version as he would inevitably misplace them. They had argued about it, but in the end she had given in.

Don’t complain to me when they’re gone, she said. But if you want to waste your money, that’s fine.

She wished she hadn’t bothered arguing. They were an unnecessary extravagance, but why not just let him enjoy them? If he lost them, so what? They were just an overpriced accessory, and she had wasted plenty of money on those in her time.

The hope was because he still thought his mom might have the answer, which in this case she did.

She smiled. ‘As it happens, I have. They were in my car.’

‘Cool, thanks. Where are they? I need them.’

‘I put them in my bag.’

‘Where’s your bag?’

She did not like the idea of him rooting around in her bag. Not that there was anything worth finding; she simply didn’t like it.

‘I’ll bring them up to you,’ she said.

‘OK.’ He turned and headed for the stairs, his tread heavy and slow and like that of a grown man. He wasn’t far away, physically. Emotionally there was some way to go, but he was growing up, and all too fast. It felt like no time at all had passed – and she knew all parents felt like this, but it made it no less true for that – since he was a helpless, blinking, mewling baby nursing at her breasts.

And she would have given anything to go back and have one more day with him – or Sally – like that.

She unclipped her bag, a tan leather Coach purse Ryan had bought for her two Christmases back, and which she loved, but had taken some time to feel comfortable carrying around. It felt a bit showy; not very her.

The first thing she saw was not the AirPods.

It was something that shouldn’t have been there, but it was hard to miss. A piece of A4 paper folded in half, and placed into her bag.

Her throat tightened; her anxiety spiked. She had not put this there. Which meant someone else had.

Good News!

Mary pulled the paper from her bag. It was a crisp, unblemished white, folded exactly down the middle. The corners were crumpled from where her bag had been moved around. She turned it over, slowly. It was unmarked on either side.

She closed her eyes. It felt like she was opening an important letter, a job offer or rejection, admission or non-admission to a favoured college, a notification that an illness had cleared up and no further treatment was required.

She unfolded the paper.

There were words, sloping forward in stylized italics, just like the note on the pole.

She began to read.