“Good point. Can I tell them I’m setting up a petting zoo stocked entirely with animals I bought off Customs Officers at Heathrow airport?”

“Do they sell animals? I thought they just looked after them in transit.”

“Mostly they do, but sometimes the owner can’t afford the quarantine fees or they just never turn up to claim them. And then they either put the animal to sleep, or sell it on.”

“Isn’t it all just dogs and cats?”

“No, you get all sorts of exotics. My best find was a tarantula called Steve. He’s lovely, he used to be a pet so he likes human company. He lies down on his back when people stroke him and all the little kids want to take him home with them. I’m not so pleased with the jaguar, though. He ate an arm off one of the visitors last month. The paperwork was a nightmare.”

“What is the matter with you two?” Paul put his head round the kitchen door. “Every time I come in here you’re bellowing like hyenas.”

Ava put her spoon down guiltily. “I’m sorry, I’ve left you with all the tidying.”

“I don’t mind that. It’s just it would be nice if you and Finn weren’t shut away in the kitchen by yourselves. What are you talking about?”

“A petting zoo that I just opened, made of animals I bought from the Heathrow Airport Customs Auction.”

“Well, of course you are. Why did I bother asking?”

“I’m going to lay the table,” said Ava. “Finn, can you baste the chicken and then put it back in for me?”

“I’ll do it.” Paul took the spoon out of Finn’s hand.

“Sorry,” said Finn.

“For not basting the chicken?”

“For causing chaos in your house. And sending rude text messages to your car. And making up stupid stories about how I own a petting zoo that’s stocked with animals that got left behind at the airport. And making Ava laugh like a hyena.”

“That makes me sound so joyless,” said Paul, shutting the chicken away in the oven. “I don’t mind her being happy. I just wish – no, never mind. We should try to get along.” The unmistakable sound of china smashing on a slate floor. “What’s she broken now?”

“I’ll go.” Finn opened the dining room door and found Ava crouched on the floor, sobbing bitterly. Finn sat down beside her.

“What’s the matter?”

Ava’s mascara ran down her face in thick black streaks. “I broke a plate.”

Finn picked up an expensive triangle of smashed porcelain. “It’s in the nature of plates to get broken.”

“But now we’ve only got seven and they won’t match and I’ll have to serve dinner off non-matching plates and… ”

“Tell you what.” Finn stood up and took a dinner plate from the half-laid table. He weighed it carefully in his hand, then threw it hard onto the floor. It exploded in a shower of sharp white fragments.

Ava looked at him in disbelief.