He stayed long enough to help Dan get the girls into their sleeping bags, and then, having seen him to the door with further thanks and apologies, Dan set about covering the floor around the comatose bodies of his daughters with newspapers and an assortment of receptacles that could be used in the event of further upheaval. He then sat on the sofa for the next three hours, staring at the girls, sometimes leaning forward to brush a hand against their foreheads just to make sure that they were still in the land of the living. And as he sat there, taking in the characteristics of their faces—the dimple on Millie’s chin that was his, the fine blonde hair that was Jackie’s, the arch of Nina’s eyebrows that was his, the fullness of her mouth that was Jackie’s— his heart began to ache at the thought that the evening’s shenanigans could have turned out so much worse.

The girls did not wake until just before eleven o’clock the following morning. Josh had gone off to work at the normal time, which pleased Dan. He knew that his son would have had much harsher things to say to his sisters than those that Dan himself had planned. As soon as they raised their throbbing heads from their pillows, Dan handed each a glass of water and a couple of Nurofen capsules, and by the time that they had ventured out of their sleeping bags and sat down at the kitchen table, the pained furrowing of their foreheads had lessened. Not a word passed between them as Dan placed the plateful of well-done toast and mugs of hot, sweet tea in front of them. The girls glanced across the table at each other and both simultaneously burst into tears.

Even though Dan’s heart yearned to comfort them, he kept up his work in silence. He picked up their sleeping bags and folded them up and put them on the sofa. He cleared the buckets and saucepans from the floor and scrumpled up the newspapers and threw them in the dustbin. And all the while, the girls kept crying and picking at their toast and drinking their tea in mouselike quantities.

It was Millie who eventually broke the silence. “We are really sorry, Dad. We really are.”

“Right,” said Dan, and then began to wash up his own breakfast things.

“We didn’t mean to do it,” said Nina, giving him full benefit of her doe-eyed meekness.

Dan turned to look at her, but his expression of displeasure never changed. “Right.” He slung the dishcloth over his shoulder and began stacking away cups and plates in the cupboard next to the sink.

Millie began sobbing with renewed gusto. “We are just so miserable, Dad. You don’t understand. We just hate it so much.”