Upstairs, Yvonne’s bag has gone and her bed has been stripped. Maybe this is for the best, that they break away from each other. That she gets to stay at her fancy hotel up by the lake and he stays here, finding whatever it is he’s looking for. Though, he’s no longer sure what that is. Or maybe he is, maybe it was Yvonne’s approval on how he turned out and now he hasn’t got it, there’s no point in him being here at all.

He takes a long shower, hoping it’ll clear his head or at least stop it from thumping.

‘I’m never drinking again,’ he mumbles while brushing out his hair.

‘Hi,’ he says to Purity’s back as she stands in the kitchen, but she doesn’t flinch. He tries louder and she makes that sound through her teeth again; it makes him smile, this little tick of hers he had forgotten about.

‘Are you clean?’ she asks, not turning away from washing her vegetables.

‘Yeah.’ He wonders if he should take the question as an invitation to go over and hug her. No matter how busy Purity used to be around the house, she was always ready with the big hugs when he was a kid, she and Mum would often be sitting in the kitchen together with their arms around each other. But he doesn’t feel right about trying to hug her now, especially with the ringworm. Delia made such a big deal out of it; you’d think he had measles.

He steps into the kitchen, ‘Can I help you?’

She turns and stares at him, her eyes wide with shock.

‘What?’ He looks down at his T-shirt, expecting it to be stained or crushed.

‘Why did you get all these tattoos? That is not good.’

He pulls at his sleeves and crosses his arms. ‘I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have stayed out. It was rude of me. But we didn’t know if you’d be back or not and I didn’t want to come in too late.’

She takes a handful of peelings and throws them in a bag on the worktop. Is she mad at him?

‘Purity?’

‘Yes?’

‘You sure I can’t help you do something?’

‘No. Go and sit down.’