Terry begins to prance around the room in a crude imitation of her. She gives a forced laugh, and Dominic does too, his panic retreating just a little.

“Yeh, well, I learnt my lesson, I’ll wear a tracksuit next time. It was a bit much.”

“Fucking ’course it was, dense cow,” Terry bellows. “That’s what they want though, don’t they. All these twats round here. Come join our dim-witted dance into oblivion. You ever seen anything so contrived? How easily manipulated do they think we are? Stuff us in holes and put bright lights around us, and we’re gonna think our dark pit’s gonna get some of that brightness? Yeh right. Whose plan was that anyway? Bloody Zionist bankers probably. Think they can control us. Think we don’t notice, but I do, don’t I? Don’t I?”

Simone is not sure which of them this question is directed at. She dares to look away from Terry towards her son. Dominic may be off the hook about school, but he is still standing as motionless as he can, his eyes fixed on the older man, nodding whenever he pauses. Simone’s breath relaxes a little. So long as they both stay listening, stay respectful, Terry’s rant will run itself out. Minutes tick by to the beat of the whirring washing machine behind them. Every now and then there’s a pause, and Simone and Dominic nod, before Terry carries on unabated, ignoring Jasmine’s sporadic bursts into the kitchen area, which are warded off by Dominic passing her a Kit Kat. Simone tries hard, but she can’t quite follow Terry’s jumbled tirade. He’s jumping from one subject to another, too fast for her so that it’s impossible to follow the connections. There are frequent references to Toffs and Dirty Politicians and Jews and Fucking Primrose Twats, but she loses the thread of it. At one point there’s something about 9/11 and the banking crash and how they’re related, but she doesn’t catch on to that either. Terry is talking at speed and loudly. There are few breaths. He’s sat himself on a chair at the counter, but neither Simone nor Dominic dare to move. Her legs begin to stiffen. She sees Dominic’s shoulders tightly raised. Now Terry asks Dominic something. What has he asked? Simone wasn’t listening. Dominic glances at her, his eyes bright again with terror, but she can’t help her son. Her own stomach contracts. She can see Dom’s shoulders trembling. What has Terry asked?

“Do you think so?” Terry repeats, to Dominic.

Is he supposed to say yes, or no? Simone has no answer to mouth him.

“Well?”

“I dunno,” Dominic answers finally, quietly, head bowed but eyes still dutifully fixed on the larger man. “Sorry.”

There is a pause. A brief silence amid the thunder. Terry is staring at Dominic. He is close enough to hit him. Simone thinks he is about to. Not the face, she pleads internally. Not his face. But, suddenly, Terry laughs. “You’re as dense as your dense mother.”