‘I’m Maggie. I’m a friend of Tom’s.’ She turned and smiled at Paul who blinked very slowly back, confusion distorting his features as he swayed in the doorway. It was good that he was on his feet.

‘What?’ He seemed to focus in on the contents of the last bottle being tipped into the sink. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

‘I’m doing you a favour,’ said Maggie, rinsing the bottle out and adding it to the others.

Paul’s eyes followed the bottle. When they alighted on the pile of empty whisky bottles in the crate he brought his hands up to his face. ‘No!’ He staggered across the kitchen holding onto the worktop for support. ‘No, no, no…’ he repeated his voice full of sorrow.

Tom appeared at the door. His hair wet and his face pale. ‘You okay, Dad?’

‘No! This. This woman,’ spat Paul, jabbing a finger near to Maggie’s face. She stepped back, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on him.

‘That’s Maggie. I rang her.’

‘Why?’ Paul looked genuinely confused.

Tom shook his head. ‘Because… I didn’t know what to do and you were…’ His voice was choked up with emotion. Maggie wanted to wrap him in her arms and block out all his pain. No child should ever have to see a parent in the state Paul was in. Her blood started to boil on Tom’s behalf.

‘She! She…’ Paul did more jabbing movements in Maggie’s direction. ‘Has tipped away my… MY… whisky!’ He twisted around to face Maggie. She stood her ground. ‘That’s theft, that is!’ His voice was getting louder and he was swaying dangerously.

‘The last thing an alcoholic needs is a house full of alcohol,’ said Maggie calmly, wiping her hands on a tea towel of dubious cleanliness – she’d wash them again when she got home.

‘A what?’ Paul uttered a strangled laugh. ‘How dare you! You barge in here and you… hey… What are you doing?’

Maggie had moved to the fridge and she was taking out cans of lager. ‘I told you. I’m helping you by getting rid of the alcohol. As long as it’s here you’ll drink it. And you can’t get in that state again.’ She glanced briefly at Tom, his brow furrowed, his eyes focused on his father.

Paul made a lunge for a can but Maggie was too quick for him and spun around with the last lager, opened it in a flourish and tipped its contents away. Paul pulled at his hair and made a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan. He swayed a little until his eyes settled on a tall cupboard. He made his way over to it, opened it and rummaged behind the ironing board that was stored there, swearing when it toppled.

‘Dad. What are you doing?’ Tom was looking embarrassed, his eyes darting between his father and Maggie.