I spent another hour with that empty glass, mulling over the contents of the letters, and I was still thinking about them as they banged against my leg in the bag when I walked home, early and close to sober. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, pre-dawn, pre-alarm but feeling oddly rested, there they were, still front and centre in my thoughts. Not to mention staring at me from the milk crate.

I was in the kitchen with the Gaggia humming well before Dom came downstairs, followed by George and just a few minutes later Wolfie. I had their respective orders ready like a well-oiled barista, until George threw a spanner in the works by loudly declaring he now only drank Americanos. Which resulted in Dom setting a few new house rules involving small boys, caffeine and early-morning noise pollution.

I glanced over at Wolfie sipping her coffee, seemingly unfazed by the force of George’s enthusiasm. When our eyes met awkwardly and unexpectedly, it was me who looked away, of course. It unnerved me, how sharp her gaze was, almost as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. Like the jig was well and truly up, and she wasn’t to be fooled by birthday drinks and bogus errands and sleeping all day. Like she knew precisely what my game was.

The thing was, though, I had no idea about her game. At least with Lou, it was a level playing field – cards on the table, nowhere to hide, because we’d both been there, until we hadn’t. But I didn’t know what, if anything, my niece knew about the reasons why Lou and I hadn’t spoken for so long. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to dodge a bullet than to eyeball the loaded gun across an Americano.

There was no sign of Lou by the time Dom called a five-minute countdown for the school run, and I honestly didn’t know if I was relieved or disappointed. About ten minutes after the front door slammed behind the others, I was still standing at the kitchen window staring out at the half-dug vegetable patch when Gentleman ambled in. I’d already fed him – an over-generous serving to make up for my absence the day before – but I didn’t put it past him to hold a grudge, so I reached into the cupboard to grab him a treat. I heard a soft scraping noise, and when I turned around Lou was there. My dog, that big furry creeper, walked over to her, licked her hand, then looked back at me smugly.

Even though it wasn’t quite as confronting to see my sister in the doorway on her crutches as it had been the first time, it wasn’t nothing, and in the few seconds it took to collect myself, I repeated her name in my head several times in quick succession. Lou, Lou, Lou. Lou-Lou.

‘Cappuccino, Lou?’ And maybe it was the practice, but in the end, the first time I addressed my sister by her name didn’t feel clumsy or self-conscious, as I’d thought it might. In the end, it came out all right.