Mary had already set out her notepad and pen on the table. She dated the fresh, lined page then deadpanned: ‘Tea’s gonna help with rapport.’

One lengthy silence later, Holly put on the kettle.

‘Gingernut?’ Mary fished two dodgy-looking biscuits from her cavernous fabric bag then removed her jumper.

Holly did not want a biscuit.

‘Tell me about yourself.’ Chewing, Mary made a rolling motion with her hand to start things off. ‘E.g., “I was born…”’

Mary’s bag was open on the floor, so Holly could see the book inside. ‘You got a proof copy?’

‘As part of his prison dossier. Read it in two sittings,’ Mary said.

‘What did you think?’ Clearly expecting high praise, Holly sipped her tea and seemed to relax.

‘Load of shite. I’d prefer to share a house with Hannibal Lecter. No matter what you say to me today, I’m gonna recommend that your father should not live with you under any circumstances.’

‘Who’s your manager?’

‘My senior’s name is…’ Mary jotted the name and number of her boss on a council issue With Compliments slip, then reached into her bag for an A4 piece of paper headed ‘Official Complaint Form’. ‘Her name’s Catherine Buteman, and she will agree with your complaint wholeheartedly. Now, where were we?’

Holly reached down and pulled the book out of Mary’s bag. She touched the cover, which the picture of her dad’s face filled. The title was across his chest, with the letter C embroidered in red on his t-shirt: Cuck: Letters to My Dead Wife, by Dr Liam Macdowall.

‘Doctor.’ Mary sniggered a tad. ‘Of what again?’

‘Geography.’

‘Haha.’ Her laugh was accidental.

‘What’s funny about geography?’

Mary thought about it a while and then laughed again. ‘Oh, come on, you know it just is.’ She blew her nose until all the laugh came out. ‘He never did use it though, did he?’

‘Mum’s job came first. Mostly he looked after me.’ Holly’s face was burning red. ‘In your day it was okay to talk about a man like he’s nothing. You don’t know my father.’

‘I know hundreds of him.’ Mary stared the girl out; a battle of the generations. ‘Do you want revenge – is that why you’re putting in all this work to have him here?’ Holly’s impressive suburban terrace had been painted and renovated within an inch of its life. ‘Have you been planning this for years?’

Holly was filling in the complaint form, and honed in on the employee number on Mary’s ID – 84737.