They walk through to the living room and Lewis rubs his head. ‘I don’t think I can face her right now. She’s only going to ask me for something.’ He puts his phone down on the coffee table and takes the drink Yvonne’s poured.

‘Like what?’

‘Money,’ he says loudly. ‘And I don’t have it at the moment. She can wait.’ Lewis sits on the sofa and pats the cushion next to him. ‘Let’s not talk about this.’

Whatever is going on between them is not her concern, she doesn’t want or need to know about it. But as the phone vibrates on the table he shifts a little.

‘Answer it, Lewis.’

He takes the phone off to another room and she switches on the television to block out his voice, but every so often she can feel the bass of it bouncing off the bare floors and walls in the bedroom. She watches the news, taking none of it in before smelling the pizza and running back to the oven.

‘Shit.’

He comes out of the bedroom. ‘Can’t believe you’re still burning those? Not like you haven’t had enough practice.’

‘And now I know my smoke alarms don’t work either,’ she says, plonking the pizza on a chopping board.

They both stare at it, the atmosphere thick with the interruption of Emma.

‘How’s Kiama?’ Yvonne asks as she looks in the freezer for something else to make. ‘I haven’t seen him in a while. How’s he getting on at school?’ When she turns back to Lewis he looks surprised, has she done the wrong thing by bringing him up?

‘He’s good,’ Lewis says, ‘I guess.’

She wants to pursue this, to make it normal. He needs to know he can talk about his son with her and it’s okay.

‘Did he tell you about Mr Linton? Having a male teacher has really made a difference.’

Lewis gets the plates out of the cupboard.

‘The last time I spoke to him he was obsessed with ancient Egypt. I’ve got a papyrus somewhere I said I would send him, but obviously I can’t find it in this place.’

‘How do you still know so much about him? I thought you and Emma didn’t speak much anymore.’

‘We don’t.’ She decides to stick with the pizza; cracking it in half and putting a handful of salad leaves on each plate. ‘But the last time I phoned the flat, Kiama answered and we talked. This is such a crap dinner.’

She catches him frown.

‘What? Are you mad about me speaking to Kiama?’

‘No. But I don’t understand how she stops me taking him at weekends and restricts me to this fortnightly scheduled call, yet you’re getting all this time with him, knowing his teacher’s name and stuff.’

‘I told you, I called—’