‘Not actually get on it.’ He’s climbing from the bed, wearing the look of puzzlement which was habitual to him when he was small. On his developing features, it’s still endearing.

She reaches behind the door for the dressing gown he rarely wears, a present from his grandmother.

‘Better put this on. The heating went off hours ago.’

For once, he puts on the dressing gown without argument.

In the kitchen, Paul’s making tea, looking out as the kettle heats at the backs of the neighbours’ houses. All are in darkness but one, where the downstairs lights are blazing. For a mad moment, Paul wonders if it’s Evan’s house, but they live two miles away. He finds the rarely used sugar bowl in the cupboard, and puts it on the tray with the best mugs, realising how much of his mother’s training has rubbed off now he’s confronted with authority. The kettle boils, and he makes four teas, adding milk. Finding four matching teaspoons in the cutlery drawer, he picks up the tray. So much for me the rebel, he thinks as he carries it through to the living room. So much for the years of student protests and sit-ins, for the baiting of the pigs. Now they’re here, and he’s bringing out matching teaspoons. Times change.

In the living room, he finds the seating arrangements have changed too. Stewie and Vicky are on the sofa, and Naylor and Hagen both have dining chairs. The scene looks cramped, unnatural, like a Christmas visit from distant relatives, except that Stewie and Vicky look self-consciously vulnerable in their night-clothes. Stewie is swamped by that dressing gown he never wears; it makes him look small, and Paul feels suddenly protective towards them both. Vicky’s hair is a pillow-ruffled mess, and he knows when she looks in a mirror she’ll be mortified, especially since the policewoman’s casual up-do is designed to look smart come hell or high water, a style which could never be out of place.

He puts the tray down on the coffee table, and channelling his mother again, wonders if he ought to have brought biscuits. Stewie might have appreciated them. Then he glances at his son and realises the boy is scared. The last thing he’ll be thinking of is biscuits.

‘Help yourselves,’ says Paul, and bypasses the armchair to sit next to Stewie on the sofa. Stewie seems to want him close, and immediately moves over to make room.

Hagen is smiling at Stewie, but his smile looks contrived as a warm-up technique, a ploy to facilitate a quick pick of Stewie’s brain. Naylor takes a mug, spoons in sugar and stirs. She seems very interested in her tea and uninterested in Stewie, but Paul knows that’s an act to take the pressure off his son.

Naylor lays the teaspoon back on the tray and sips her drink.