He comes to the house now.

Not often — once every five or six weeks, usually on a Sunday, usually because he wants something out of the shed, which I now unlock with a key stamped thirty-two.

He has never asked me how much the account was and I have never told him and I think he has worked out that I would tell him if he asked.

And he said one thing, in the August of 2025, standing in the back garden with a strimmer he had come to borrow, that I think about more than almost anything my father said.