Dan decided that he had reasoned enough. He spooned out some rice and a small amount of rogan josh onto a plate and handed it to Nina. “If you get the poppadoms out of the oven, you can have mine if you like.”

As Nina carried her plate over to the table, Millie came back into the kitchen. Dan gave her a plate already filled with food. He wasn’t going to go through the same rigmarole with her.

“Can we put the television back on?” Millie asked.

“No, we can’t,” Dan replied, putting the containers into the oven before taking his own plate over to the table.

Millie groaned at the same time that Nina asked, “Why not?”

Dan handed a fork to each of his daughters. “Because I thought that we might talk instead.”

“What about?” Nina asked halfheartedly, sticking the fork into her rice and letting it dribble back onto her plate.

“I don’t know. What would you like to talk about?”

His question was met by silence. Dan took a mouthful of food, hoping that one of the girls might have said something by the time he had finished it. It didn’t work. “All right, then. Ni, I thought your concert went very well tonight.”

“Dad, you fool!” Millie hissed through clenched teeth. “I told you about that.”

Dan ignored his elder daughter. “I thought you played really well.”

“I did not,” Nina mumbled.

“Well, I disagree with you and I know for a fact that Mrs. Partridge does as well.”

Millie and Nina turned to look at Dan simultaneously, both with questioning frowns creasing their foreheads. “Who is Mrs. Partridge?” Millie asked.

“Come on, Millie,” Dan exclaimed. “You know as well as I do who Mrs. Partridge is. Nina’s music teacher.”

For a moment, both girls stared open-mouthed at him before bursting out laughing, Nina managing to spray her mouthful of food across the table in the process.

“Nina!” Dan exclaimed, reaching over to wipe the splattering of pilau rice off the television screen. “Okay then, what have I said that’s so funny?”

Millie swung around in her chair to face Dan, her eyes sparkling with intrigue—or maybe it was humour—Dan couldn’t work out which, but it was certainly the most animated that he had seen his elder daughter all evening.

“So what did you say to Mrs. Partridge, then, Dad?” she asked. “Was it something like ‘My word, Mrs. Partridge, didn’t the orchestra play well tonight? Do you think Nina has any chance of getting an A in her GSCE’s, Mrs. Partridge?”

Dan was bemused by all the hilarity, but nevertheless pleased that he had at least succeeded in making his daughters laugh. It didn’t happen very often. “Maybe not those exact words, but something like that, yes.”