‘Fine,’ Lizzie says, her voice muffled. She’s on her knees, using the back of a scrubbing brush to cleave ice from the giant freezer. She doesn’t turn around.

‘What are you doing?’ Tess says, bending down to join her.

‘I’m defrosting the freezer,’ Lizzie says, straining to reach in deeper.

‘Well, stop it at once. Your poor knees.’ Tess puts a hand on Lizzie’s back and Lizzie wants to shake it off. Doesn’t Tess know not to touch?

Lizzie fishes out a blackened pea. ‘I like cleaning. Pathogenic bacteria cause most food-borne illnesses.’ She raises her arm so Tess’s hand slides off. ‘They can still thrive in cold temperatures. They could be on this spatula.’ Lizzie peers at it, missing her microscope.

Lenny would find this fascinating but Tess just harrumphs. ‘Those peas have lived happily in the freezer, doing no harm for the last seven years. Leave them be. Give peas a chance. Ha!’

Lizzie wishes she could jest like Tess does. See the funny side of things. She used to laugh more, used to care less about things being ‘just so’. But now she can’t. Her guard has been up for so long, she doesn’t know how to let it down. Maybe if she puts the kitchen in order, her life will follow suit.

Lizzie looks round and sees that Tess is waiting for her to laugh too, so she says, ‘Ha,’ weakly, then adds, ‘Listeria is probably growing all over the food. It presents as flu, and often people have no idea until it’s too late. It’s a silent killer.’

‘A bit of bacteria never hurt anyone, Lizzie. Instead of trying to free the peas, why not think about freeing yourself?’

Lizzie says, ‘Ha,’ again, but Tess isn’t joking any more, so she moves on to the recycling box instead.

‘You won’t find self-realization or self-worth in the bottom of that recycling box either, no matter how hard you scrub it. You don’t always need to be doing something, Lizzie. Why not use this time while Lenny is at school to think about preparing your statement and looking at career workshops?’

Lizzie is thinking all the time. She thinks so much her brain hurts. She wishes she could sleep the day away. Would welcome the break from herself. She can’t tell Tess that, though, so she says, ‘Right,’ instead, and stands awkwardly, scrubbing brush in hand. Tess smiles and takes the brush from her with an ‘I’ll have that,’ then walks over to put the kettle on.

‘Now then, which tea-cosy will we have today?’ Tess holds up two, a crocheted replica of the Pavilion and a knitted trifle. Lizzie wonders if it’s a test and her choice will mean something. She picks the Pavilion.