‘Not formal, capital P parties. But there’s always something simmering, people coming and going. It’s a hub, I like to think. Mates know they can come and hang out, stay over if they need to. Open house, pretty much. More the merrier.’

‘That was my place once—but for the kids. When Lena and her brother were little. They were always around and often had a little friend along. No home bar but a truly impressive selection of sugary breakfast cereals.’ It hurts to think about it, but in a nice way. Best years of her life, those were. She could have that again, couldn’t she? For adults now, like Kon had described? She can picture it, actually: a nice little chrome and red vinyl bar up the back corner of the living room. Two or three shelves on the wall behind with bottles of whisky and bourbon, Midori and brandy and vodka and gin. She has some cocktail recipe books she can display. And all the different kinds of glasses: highballs and tumblers, flutes and coupes. Then over the other side of the room, next to the TV, a proper, grown-up stereo. And some candles—or, no, retro lamps here and there around the space making it all soft and sexy and atmospheric.

What she can’t picture is who will be there to enjoy the soft and sexy atmosphere. It stings, the thought of all the unused space between the bar and the stereo, the sparkling emptiness of the glasses, permanent fullness of the bottles. She wants to ask Kon what came first for him: the welcoming home or the friends needing welcome? There had been times over the years when acquaintances were on the verge of becoming friends and it was her turn to reciprocate their dinner or barbecue or drinks invitations, and when she didn’t the relationship drifted back to a nodding one. Three times this had happened. More maybe, but she doesn’t want to think about them too much. It wasn’t the fault of her house. If they’d been good enough friends she would’ve made the effort to clean up for them. If they’d been good enough friends they wouldn’t have cared if she didn’t.

‘Can I ask you something?’

Kon has been fiddling with her drip and jotting things down on her chart for the last couple of minutes. The pen is in his mouth as he fiddles some more. He makes a noise she interprets as yes.

‘Say you had to get rid of some of your things. Say, I don’t know, like a third of your stuff.’

‘Mmm.’ He stops fiddling for a second then continues, but Nic feels the change in his listening, knows he must be aware of her situation. Feels unable to turn back.