Yvonne picks at the duct tape holding the bath panel in place. ‘No chance. I’ve got my family over later so let’s see if I survive that first.’

‘What, all of them?’

‘Mum, Dad, Nick and Claude. I don’t even have enough mugs for them all. But they’ll only stay long enough to judge the place then head down to the pub. I was going to cook but—’

‘You don’t know how to?’

‘Exactly. Why are you up so early on a Sunday morning?’

‘Kiama has football. Can you believe I’m now one of those women standing on the side of a pitch freezing my tits off while he misses the ball?’

‘Kiama? Playing football?’ Each Christmas Yvonne contributed to his collection of expensive football kits yet she had no idea if he played or watched. ‘Is he any good?’

‘You have met Kiama, haven’t you? He’s not the most active seven-year-old boy in the world.’

Yvonne laughs as she tries to remember a time when she had even seen him run.

‘He’s so shit at this.’

‘You can’t say that about your own son.’

‘This is not his skill set. He’s too clumsy and he hasn’t grown into his body yet. Why is he so much taller than every other boy his age?’

‘Must be all that good home cooking you do.’

‘Shut up. So, what’s going on? You’re hiding out in the flat, painting walls and stuff?’

Yvonne rolls back on her chair and checks the three tiles she’s managed to lay. They look slightly wonky. ‘This flat is eating up all my free time.’

‘Free time? You’ve not had free time since 2001. When are we going out? I really want to have like a big night out.’

‘How big?’

‘I’m talking lining up the shots big, getting chucked out of an Addison Lee big, whose-house-party-is-this-anyway big.’

Yvonne shakes her head while Emma continues to list their past escapades. She’s a bad influence, no matter how much Yvonne swears a night out will involve a meal, a few drinks then home it always ends up messy. It’s almost like Emma makes Yvonne revert to the person she used to be, the one who existed before deadlines and projects and grout. Yvonne misses that person sometimes.

‘So, homeowner, are you up for it?’

The tiles are definitely wonky. Yvonne drops the spirit level in the bath and admits defeat. ‘Yeah, sounds good. Sort a babysitter and send me some dates.’

‘Actually, Dickhead has stepped up his game a bit recently. Kiama is staying over there most weekends at the moment, so I’m free whenever.’ A whistle blows in the background and there’s shouting. ‘Fuck, Kiama just got hit in the face with the ball. I think he’s alright though. No, hang on, I’m not sure. Shit.’