Evie holds her breath. What did he want to do? ‘Go on,’ she tells him.

He takes a breath. ‘I hate how somebody else can make me feel this bad,’ he says. ‘I want to forgive because I don’t want to hate her – I don’t want to hate my own mother. That’s poison. But I can’t forget what she put me through, and so … I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want her in my life.’

Evie nods. ‘I get it,’ she says. ‘And whatever you think is the right thing to do for you is absolutely the right thing.’

‘Yeah?’ he says, looking at her hopefully.

‘Of course,’ Evie says. ‘But I do think you should tell her all this. Not even for her – for you. Not to play the Alzheimer’s card but at least your mom is cognisant. And I’m really not trying to play the misery Olympics here …’ Evie notes Duke’s puzzled face, like he doesn’t know what she means. ‘Misery Olympics? Like I’m not competing for the “I-Have-It-Worse” trophy, I’m just using my life to maybe give a different perspective on yours, and you can take it or leave it, but …’

‘But at least my mum can process what I’m saying,’ Duke offers, and Evie nods.

‘Having an alcoholic mother is an unfair and unjust hand to have been dealt,’ Evie tells him. ‘And it’s up to you how you play it. For what it’s worth, all I’m saying is: tell it to her straight. Don’t disappear on her, or just stop answering her calls. She needs to hear what you just told me – it won’t be anything she’s not already heard from you in her mind before. It will probably be a relief to hear you say it, because then it’s out there: you’re mad at her and don’t know if you will ever not be. And once you’ve done that, once you’ve given her the full truth of how you feel FOR YOU, so you can release it, then you’ll be better able to decide on what to do next. A relationship, just a Christmas card every year, family counselling. It starts with being honest with yourself – which, my compliments, you’re doing beautifully – and then telling the person you need to. So. There. That’s my monologue for the day.’

She feels embarrassed now, like she’s hijacked the conversation and said too much and interfered. The feeling intensifies the longer Duke stares at the floor, blinking, moving his head from side to side just enough to demonstrate that he’s not totally frozen up but not enough to mean anything. Yes? No? Maybe?

‘Duke?’ Evie says, eventually, because she can’t take it any longer. For all she knows, he’s fallen asleep with his eyes open.