Even now, it works. It’s what he would have expected of us and none of us want to ever disappoint him. It also serves in some small way to keep him with us.

Charlie looks at me. “Shall I wait in the lounge?”

“No,” I say quickly, grabbing his hand. “Stay.”

I see my mum shoot us a dewy sort of glance and mentally sigh. She’s been shipping Charlie and me ever since we both announced that we were gay.

“These meetings are personal,” Charlie says, looking at my mum. “Anya might not want me to hear her business.”

Mum pats him on the arm affectionately. “Stay. Anya thinks of you as a brother.”

“How lucky for you, Charlie. Maybe we could compare ulcer remedies,” I say dryly, but they ignore me as usual.

“She knows Misha will just tell you everything anyway,” my mum says to Charlie. She shrugs. “Plus, you keep Misha calm. It’s either you or Valium.”

“Or crack,” I observe.

“That’s banned from a Dad Do-Over, and well you know it,” my mum says serenely. “Or I’d have smoked it years ago.”

There’s a clatter of footsteps on the stairs. “Showtime,” my mum says happily.

I sit back on my chair as Anya blows into the room. And blow is the right word. She’s glowering and stomping while muttering under her breath. Her previously long black hair has been dyed a bright red, and it’s a tangled mess. She also seems to be allergic to the colour wheel as she’s dressed entirely in black.

She looks surly and like a typical teenager, but I still have to repress a smile, as no matter how crabby she seems, she won’t go against the family meeting. It’s like our superpower.

“Are you okay, Anya? Is your asthma playing up?” I ask silkily.

“No,” she says, slinging herself into the chair and giving me a look that suggests I am the stupidest person in the world. “Why?”

“Because you’re huffing so hard it sounds like you need an inhaler.”

“Misha,” she whines. “Do we have to do this?”

I lean back and cross my arms. “Well, no. We can totally leave off the discussion of your health and focus on the topic of railing bondage at senior school. In fact, let’s have a debate about that. What are your views, Anya?”

“No, I don’t need an inhaler,” she says quickly, and I can’t entirely hide my smile. She’s always amused me even though at times I’d like to lock her in her room for the rest of her life and board up the windows. My mum insists it’s because we’re both headstrong and very similar, but I’m nothing like this spawn of Satan.

“Nice try,” I say. I tap the table consideringly and then push the toy towards her. “Meeting is called to order. The floor is yours, Anya. Let us sit and play soft music and discuss the ins and outs of handcuffing yourself to railings.”