Softly, Terry takes her wrists, one in each hand, and pulls them slightly downwards. It is not hard, yet her body feels weighted. Leaning forward he sticks his face an inch before her own. She can smell beer and something stale on his breath. He is waiting for her to look at him. Slowly, she meets his eye. For a second, he holds her gaze. Two seconds. Three.

Until suddenly, he snickers. “Well, Milly’s a dense cow also!”

Now there is an explosion of laughter, first from Terry, then from Jasmine who has finally unfrozen and followed them into the kitchen, and eventually from Simone who smiles and tentatively joins in. Terry thinks he has been hilarious. He releases Simone’s wrists with a flourish and lifts Jasmine high into the air. She seems fine now, Simone notices. Unbothered by the tension that has preceded this moment and perhaps was only ever in Simone’s head. As her father starts throwing her up and down, she giggles profusely, louder with every flight.

“Jassy,” Terry shouts as he launches her. “Jassy!”

Simone feels her own chest relax. Everything’s fine. She was being paranoid again, typically, seeing problems that aren’t there. Terry’s always telling her she’s doing that. And he’s always had a dark sense of humour. Given his childhood, he does well really to be as balanced as he is. She should be more understanding of that, more mindful. Especially when he’s on a comedown. Especially with the move. Jasmine shrieks again and now Simone laughs a little louder, with careful pleasure. Noticing her mother, Jasmine giggles even more generously, gesticulating for her to join in. But as Simone moves closer, reaching for her daughter’s outstretched hands, Terry stops still. Face instantly devoid of lightness, he spins around and stares at her again, as though her presence is a rude, unwelcome intrusion, and they haven’t moments ago been laughing together. She feels she should back away or disappear into the floorboards.

“Go on then,” he says.

This time, the curtness to his tone is unmistakeable, not imagined, and the relief of the previous moment is replaced with a shooting panic. What does ‘go on then’ mean? What does he want her to do? Back away? Could he hear her thinking? The TV is still blaring, politicians arguing about something irrelevant, and the room feels unbearably loud. Confusion creeps. They were just playing, weren’t they? Laughing? Go on then. She’s worried she hasn’t heard him properly, or that she’s missed something, and if she asks for clarification he’ll think she wasn’t listening, that she’s making him look like a mug. She hesitates for a second. Two seconds. Three. But her anxiety is still misplaced. Again, she’s read things wrong.

“Go on then,” he repeats, and this time he says it in a coaxing, sing-song voice, as if it’s a great joke, or as though he’s talking to Jasmine, as though Simone is a child herself. She is still unsure of the instruction, but he helps her now with a wave of his hand. Tentatively she picks up the dustpan and brush to which he is indicating. “Stupid Mummy,” Terry tells Jasmine, shaking his head as he hurls her into the air again.