“Ryan, it’s the new paint pots in the garage. The keys are—”
“In the key bowl?” Ryan suggests, like it’s some kind of terrible revelation, and Nan tuts at him.
“No need for that,” she says. “Honestly. I bet Alex wouldn’t cheek his grandmother like that, would you, dear?”
He shakes his head, earning her approval, but once she’s gone back into the living room, he rolls his eyes and whispers to Ryan: “Mostly because she’s dead.”
Ryan snickers, and that smirk that’s nearly familiar now traces across Alex’s face.
“You all right?” he asks. He asks almost every time they meet, but this time there is a new significance, and it colours his tone slightly.
But Alex nods, and nothing new comes from that.
* * * *
Roughly a week later, (and all due to painting the fence) Ryan works out that he really has a thing about hipbones.