If I’m quick, I can eat two pieces of jam toast and be out of here before she comes back. I don’t have time for croissants. It’s only early, but Bridge or Ellie should be around today, so I’m sure I can hang out with one of them. While the bread’s in the toaster, I grab my things, throwing Mum’s old t-shirt into the washing basket so that I can clean it before I give it back to her.

I wonder if I should leave a note. I’m still deliberating when she comes back out, her face calm and soft again.

‘Sorry about that, Clem.’

I shrug, realising I’m shrugging a lot now. She steps closer and my skin prickles. Is she going to hug me? Her hand hovers just near my arm and she pats it once, like it’s the most she can do. Then she sits down at the dining-room table and sighs. ‘It must be hard having me here.’

‘Yeah.’

‘It’s hard being here.’ She looks up at me, her eyes sad. ‘I’ve missed so much.’

Suddenly, I smell the sharp tang of burning toast. I dash into the kitchen and jab the cancel button on the toaster. Too late. My two slices pop out, completely black. I bite my lip so that I don’t feel anything else.

‘It seems like all the appliances are conspiring against us. We could go out for breakfast?’

I drop the burnt toast in the sink, where it sizzles against the water in the basin. I imagine sitting down at a café, with just her. All the space and the air we need to talk around us. And then I prepare an answer, not sure if it’s the right one.

‘I’m not really hungry anymore,’ I say, hoping she can’t hear the growl of my stomach from where she sits.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Maybe another day.’

‘Yeah. Okay.’

‘What are you doing today?’

‘Um … going out with Bridge.’ The lies are rolling out of my mouth without me being able to control them. ‘Did you want me to turn on the oven?’

‘Sure. Thanks, Clem.’

‘There’s a trick to it. You have to hold down the button and wave the match around near the pilot light until it catches. It can take a second or two,’ I say without looking over at her.

I go to leave the kitchen, but then I notice a collection of shiny tap fittings on the bench. They’re all different shapes and sizes, with different metal finishes. I pick up one that has a white dot with a red ‘H’ for ‘Hot’ in the middle of it.

‘I’ve never thought about taps before …’ I say, turning the handle backwards and forwards. ‘I didn’t really think they could look so different.’