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itching to get back to work.”
    Greg felt himself reddening. “It’s not that I want to,” he said hastily. “But I’m an accountant, and it’s the end of April. Income tax time, you know. There’s an absolutely huge pile of returns that have to be filed before midnight tomorrow.”
    â€œI understand,” Lucy replied. “Your mum already told me about you.”
    â€œGreat. So do you think you could do that—keep her company?”
    Lucy’s initial response shocked him: she laughed, then put her arms about his mother. “Greg, what do you think? Of course I will. I was going to offer anyway.”
    The whistling of the kettle drew her back to the stove, covering the moment of embarrassment. Greg’s mother took his hand. Though her eyes shone with moisture, her face was composed. “Thank you for everything, dear,” she said quietly. “I know how hard it’s been—especially since you and poor Daddy didn’t always see eye-to-eye—but you’ve been wonderful. I’ll be all right. Lucy will be with me.”
    â€œGood.” Relief let his mind begin to resume its usual preoccupations, reminding him of the other unfinished business. “Mum—er—it seems you forgot to send me the tax stuff. Want me to pick it up while I’m here?”
    His mother looked surprised. “Tax stuff?”
    â€œYou know, your receipts and . . .”
    â€œI know what you mean , dear. But I’m sure I sent it. I mailed it at least a couple of weeks ago.”
    â€œThat’s funny. Oh, well—don’t worry. When it arrives, I’ll get on to it. Bye, Mum. Call you later.”
    â€œThank you. Off you go now.”
    Greg hugged his mother. She clung hard but briefly. Then, with a last peck on her cheek, and more awkward thanks to Lucy, he left the house, heading for his waiting tax returns.

FOUR
    A s it turned out, Greg met the tax-filing deadline without further incident. On the night of his father’s death, he returned to the office and did indeed stay till the small hours. But after that he was well caught up, so on the following day, April 30, several hours before midnight, every last return was completed, checked, filed and sent zipping over the Internet to the domain of Revenue Canada.
    It was only then that the full impact of what had transpired hit him. On his way home from the office in the early evening, stopped at the light at the intersection of Oak Bay Avenue and Foul Bay Road, he realized that he was feeling almost weepy. Surprise at the unexpected emotion was mingled with a sudden guilty concern; since he had left his mother yesterday, work had consumed him so completely that he had not even called her, as promised. Though phoning while driving was against his principles, he pulled out his cell anyway. After a couple of rings, a voice said, “Hello?” Not his mother, but a voice that it took him a moment to remember must be Lucy Lynley’s.
    â€œOh, hey, Lucy,” he blurted. “You’re still there?”
    Lucy gave her disconcertingly frank laugh. “Of course, Greg. What did you expect? I said I’d look after your mum.”
    He remembered that. Also that yesterday, frantic to get back to work, he’d more or less dumped his mother on their neighbour. Embarrassed, he muttered, “Right, yes, I’m sorry. How is she doing?”
    â€œWhat can I say? As well as can be expected. She’s napping right now. How’s your tax thing going?”
    â€œAll finished—thanks to you.”
    She laughed again. “Thanks to your own hard work, I’m sure. When will you be here?”
    Greg realized that it wasn’t just exhaustion that had left his mind in such a jumble. He must be suffering from delayed shock, since he’d not even begun to think of what he had to do. “Actually, I’m headed out of town now,” he lied. “If the traffic on