‘Not all that long. It’s no big deal, Mum. Okay, four weeks ago, but I’m not worried. I’ll find something else pretty soon. Honest, I go through the employment ads every single morning without fail. Come on, let’s talk about something else. Hey, want to hear about my new flat? A room, really, but flat sounds better. It’s beaut, all self-contained and everything, isn’t it, Seymour? He thinks it’s terrific, always popping in for coffee. And it’s got this little back gate into a sort of lane, so it’s really private and peaceful. There’s even a flower garden, well, a bush with flowers, anyway. Seymour picked some for me once…Jesus, Mum, why didn’t Lynne and David show up for lunch? You did tell them I was coming, didn’t you?’

There was a taut, fragile silence. Angie’s face was suddenly pinched with distress, and Seymour found that he couldn’t swallow one mouthful of quiche.

‘Seymour, would you get a jug of water and some glasses from the kitchen, please? And some ice cubes, there’s a tray in the freezer,’ said Mrs Easterbrook. He went into the kitchen, knowing that he’d been sent out on purpose, but above the sound of the tap running he could still hear the conversation, lowered now into barbed whispers.

‘You know what your father said. You’re not to have any contact with them until you agree to go to Lakeview.’

‘Oh, he’s on about that again, is he? Look, I’m okay, I’ve told you a hundred times, told him a hundred thousand times. I’m on a program, and it’s really working. It’s been a whole two months since…’

‘Just how many times have we heard that before, Angela?’

‘Give us a break, will you?’

‘Summonses turning up here for you, how do you think we felt…’

‘They got their paperwork muddled up, honest, Mum. I’d already paid that fine, so I don’t know what on earth they could have been carrying on about. It was only a piddling little parking offence. All right, then, don’t believe me! I’m not going back to that Lakeview place. You don’t know what it’s like there, how they treat you, as though you just crawled out from under a compost heap. Jas reckons it’s worse than being in…’

‘Angela! I won’t have that young man’s…’