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Mary was beginning to think that the reason Rona struggled so much with her friendships was because she didn’t really understand what friendship was.

‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I understand that Forkie’s upset. But it seems like there’s not that much to this. Tiffany broke up with him, which happens, and now she’s dating someone else. Otis, in this case. Their relationship probably won’t last either.’ Mary shrugged. ‘That’s high school. They get over it. So if you’re asking me to get involved and tell Otis to hold off on dating Tiffany I’m not going to. And it’s too late anyway. They are dating.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ Rona said. ‘For Otis this is just another high-school girlfriend. But for Forkie it isn’t. It’s more than that. They have a special connection.’

‘If they do, they’ll work it out for themselves,’ Mary said. ‘And anyway, what about Tiffany in all this? It’s up to her who she dates! It’s not up to the parents of her boyfriends and ex-boyfriends to assign her a partner. She chooses, end of story.’

‘I’m not saying that. I’m only asking you to talk to Otis. Explain the situation.’

‘No problem. I will.’

Rona smiled. ‘You will?’

‘Yes. I’ll explain that he and Tiffany are free to date each other as long as they want to.’

‘No, that’s not—’

‘That is the situation, Rona. So that’s what I’ll explain.’

Rona looked away, her expression hardening. ‘I think you’re being very unreasonable.’

‘Really?’ Mary said. ‘There’s nothing unreasonable about it, but if you think differently I can live with it.’

Rona studied her fingertips, then looked out of the window. She gathered her things and got to her feet.

‘I’m not sure lunch is a good idea,’ she said. ‘Another time, maybe.’

Mary nodded. ‘Another time.’

No Coffee

Mary was hungry; she would have left and found something else to eat but it would have taken more time than ordering at the restaurant, so she asked for a bowl of clam chowder – that should be quick – and a black coffee.

She looked out of the window at the passers-by. She felt a twinge of guilt that she had been too harsh on Rona. She had been close to losing her temper and she wondered whether she had been rude, but then she stopped herself, her anger returning.

Rona was way out of order. She had no right to interfere in Otis’s relationships, whether she thought Faulkner and Tiffany had a special connection or not. It was evident that in some way she felt Tiffany really wanted to be with her son. Maybe, but that was up to Tiffany to decide. It was ironic; Rona – and Byron, for that matter – were the most vociferous supporters of any liberal cause you cared to mention. Their social media was full of comments about whatever the latest outrage was, not least the recent debates around abortion. Rona pronounced far and wide that a woman had the right to choose, and nobody could tell her what to do with her body. Mary agreed, although she kept her opinions to herself. She found it amusing – if not downright hypocritical – that it didn’t seem to apply when it came to Tiffany.

It was hard to believe that Rona would even consider asking her to intervene. Yes, as a mother it was hard to see your children hurt by something, but that was part of life. Rona had always been like this, ingratiating herself with coaches and teachers to try to make sure Faulkner made the cut for a sports team or class, organizing the friend group so he was always involved, and now, trying to manage his – and, where necessary, other people’s – love life. Mary understood the impulse, but it was doomed to failure. Yes, when they were eight years old you could find ways to lean on coaches to pick your kid, but at some point they were going to have to stand on their own two feet and achieve things for themselves. And with that would come disappointment – for Forkie and Otis and Sally. It was part of life.

The waiter brought her chowder and she lifted a spoonful to her mouth. It was good; rich and delicious. She took another mouthful, then glanced up and looked out at the street. Her heart sank.

Trent was walking towards the restaurant. He caught her eye and raised a hand, then slowed and opened the restaurant door.

The taste faded to ashes.

‘Hi,’ he said, looking around. He held her gaze. ‘Eating alone?’

She looked pointedly left and right. ‘Seems so.’

Without seeking permission he pulled out the chair and sat opposite her. In the light she saw that his hair – slicked back – was greying and there were veins spreading across his cheeks.

‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ he said. ‘First the farmers’ market, now here.’

‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

‘You know,’ he said. ‘I feel like people in small towns see each other all the time at sports games and events but we never really talk. You see what I mean?’

‘Kind of.’