Maggie reaches out and grabs my hand, her silver rings pressing warmly against my skin. And right at the moment, just before my eyes fill with tears, the bathroom door bangs open and we both look up to see Matt, with dripping wet hair, walking our way.

‘That bread smells good.’

Maggie laughs. I start to pull my hand away from hers, but she holds on and gives me a look that bandages me back together, at least temporarily.

‘Tastes good, too. But you’d better be quick. Clem’s hungry.’

He sits down at the other end of the table and I realise he’s waiting to be served. I watch to see how Maggie will react. She sips her tea and waits him out. If he thinks he’s going to win this battle, he knows nothing about his aunt.

‘Can you cut a couple of slices for me?’ he says and I wonder if he’s talking to me. I don’t move. I’m not cutting bread for some boy who thinks he can treat us like his personal servants.

Maggie shakes her head. ‘Plates are in the kitchen. You’ll find them. Cut as many slices as you like.’

I expect him to argue but instead he grins and jumps up to go find a plate. I look at Maggie, wondering again what she thinks, but her face is expressionless. Before Matt comes back to start on the bread, I saw off another slab. I slide the butter over and then cover it in raspberry jam. I wonder if Maggie’s right about Mum and me.

Matt’s full of noises as he spins the plate onto the table and drags the chair out to sit down. It’s like he wants us to know he’s there. I expect Maggie to comment, but she doesn’t. He hacks at the bread, making an unspoken statement, and piles his plate with chunks, not slices. He slops too much jam across the top and starts eating. The jam falls off the bread and splats onto the table.

‘When you’ve finished, wipe the table,’ says Maggie in a voice I haven’t heard her use before. It’s strange being in someone else’s moment.

‘I can do one better than that,’ Matt says. He runs his finger along the tabletop, collecting the jam blob before swallowing it.

‘Matt,’ says Maggie sharply. ‘That is not okay.’

I try to focus on the bread because I can hear Maggie’s breath coming short and sharp, which is so unlike her.

‘I cleaned it, didn’t I?’ Matt stares down the table at her, combative and angry.

‘Get the sponge and do it properly,’ growls Maggie.

‘Yeah, righto,’ he says, standing up.

I look at Maggie. I don’t know what to do. She’s usually my calm fish, not my angry, churn-the-water fish. That’s my role.