Dan shook his head. “Come on, Millie, surely things aren’t that bad, are they?”

“Don’t you believe it!” she mumbled in reply.

Dan put down the earphones on the table. “Right, well, let’s cheer everybody up. Seeing that the dinner’s burnt, I’ll have to get a takeaway. What do you want? Indian or Chinese?”

Millie’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Can we have sushi?”

“No, Millie, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

Dan leaned one hand on the worktop, the other on his hip, as he gave overplayed thought to Millie’s question. “Two reasons, mainly. One, because the nearest sushi bar is in Victoria, and two, because the car is being extremely fickle and has decided not to start. Therefore, we have no way of getting sushi.”

Millie despondently slumped her face back into her hands. “Couldn’t you get Mum to pick some up on the way home?”

“Indian or Chinese, Millie?”

Millie fixed her eyes on the television once more. “Don’t mind. Whatever.”

Dan flipped open the rubbish bin and dropped in the three cardboard lids. “Right, on the menu this evening we have chicken rogan mush, chicken pathia, and pilau rice.” He took a serving spoon from the drawer and stood with it hovering above the tinfoil containers. “What’s it going to be? Ni, you can have first choice.”

Both Millie and Nina remained transfixed in front of the television, as they had done since he had walked back into the kitchen bearing the two anaemically blue plastic bags.

“Listen, can we have the television off for a bit?”

It was like talking to a brick wall. Dan walked over to the table and stretched across Millie’s shoulder and took the remote from her grasp. The television clicked and died. To his surprise, there were no vociferous complaints, both girls seeming to accept it with bland indifference.

“I’ve got to go to the loo,” Millie said, sliding off her chair.

“Come on! You could have done that while I was out.”

“Didn’t need to go then,” Millie retorted as she left the room.

Dan let out a resigned sigh. “Right then, Ni, what do you want?”

Nina walked over to the sideboard and eyed the contents of the containers with an expression that registered supreme distaste. “What is that?”

“Well, for the second time, it’s chicken rogan josh, chicken pathia, and pilau rice.”

“Haven’t you got any poppadoms?”

“Yes, I have. They’re in the oven keeping warm.”

“Which is the mildest?”

“I think the rogan josh.”

“Could I just have rice and poppadoms?”

Dan stood with the spoon still poised. “No, you have to have a bit of one or the other.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . I bought it for you, that’s why.”

“You could always put my share in the fridge for Josh. He doesn’t mind what he eats.”