It took ages for lunch to be ready, and as we sat at the table waiting to be served Freddie showed Patrick the petition she’d just won at school, proudly telling him about her plans to skip university because she didn’t believe in the system that made spending thirty thousand pounds on a certificate so that she could get a job to pay off thirty thousand pounds of debt seem sensible.

‘I’m going to be an entrepreneur,’ she said, proudly.

‘What kind of entrepreneur?’ Patrick asked. ‘Or is that TBD?’

She giggled at his use of an acronym she understood. ‘Totes TBD,’ she replied. ‘But I want to give more of the profits away to charity than I keep for myself.’

‘That sounds very admirable,’ Patrick said, and Mum stared at me as if it was my fault her youngest daughter wasn’t planning on becoming a surgeon. Dad opened another beer, but Patrick switched to water, which I thought was sweet. He was keeping his wits about him.

Dinner was roast chicken with all the trimmings, and I was ravenous. The weather and my cobbled-together dinners from the freezer since I’d been home meant a proper English roast was the ultimate treat, and I piled swede mash and Yorkshire puddings onto my plate eagerly, already wondering what was for pudding. I hoped it was a crumble. Mum really knew how to make a good crumble.

‘Go steady,’ she uttered under her breath as Dad fussed with pouring Patrick’s gravy. ‘Don’t overindulge.’ She nodded pointedly at my small mound of roasties and immediately I flushed in shame. Nobody else had heard. I quickly used my fork to deposit all but one back onto the serving platter. My hands shook as I took my first mouthful of broccoli and peas. I couldn’t taste any of it. Why did she always have to make me feel like I’d done something wrong? Why wasn’t I ever good enough for her?

We got all the way to dessert before Mum issued her first tut.

Dad laughed a little bit too long and a little bit too hard at one of Patrick’s jokes, and she took particular umbrage at it. It was so rude and obvious that Dad immediately stopped laughing and we all turned to stare at her. My jaw slackened as she continued to dish up the Eve’s Pudding wordlessly, and it dawned on me that she wasn’t even going to try and disguise her bad manners. Patrick looked at me for guidance on how to handle it, and I knew it was now or never: if I didn’t have it out with her straightaway, I never would.

‘What?’ I said.

She didn’t respond, only handed Freddie her bowl and then sat down to pick up her spoon.