She has a meek mouse appearance, complete with thick-lensed glasses and short greying hair set in loose curls around her face. She waves to me as I enter the café. When I frown in confusion, she explains that Peter showed her my profile picture from the dating website. “I know my son is a complicated man.” She fidgets in her chair, as though the words make her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry if he’s been bothering you. He tends to latch on to people. But you should know that he’s harmless.” I keep stirring my tea to waste nervous energy. “Are you sure about that? Someone broke into my house. I left a bag of clothes on my step for a charity, and someone cut them to shreds.” Eileen leans back, her eyes wide with shock. “That doesn’t sound like Peter at all. He’s never done anything like that.” “That you know of,” I point out. “Yes, that’s true.”
