She takes advantage of the first opportunity she has to corner him in the kitchen, by the sink. He turns on the tap, running water over his plate before setting on the lower rack of the the open dishwasher. He reaches for her plate, hand closing around it, but she doesn’t quite let go. She glances through the opening that leads towards the split living and dining area, then back at him, tapping her fingernails against the bottom of the plate. “No, he didn’t say anything to me,” he says with a sigh.

Even before he had given up smoking, there had been a ban on doing it indoors at Casa de Sutcliffe, as far back as the shared flat days. They’re stood outside the front door, finishing the last of a split cigarette, and she laughs as she waves her hand in the air as a man on a bike passes them on the cobblestone lane. “He’s not leaving early. Stop worrying.” Her words don’t match her expression as her eyes flatten at the top, and seem to avoid his gaze. She picks at something invisible on her shirt, then brushes one through her hair before passing the cigarette back. “He isn’t only a client. I know him.”

“That I’ve done well,” he hears himself say. He opens his eyes and he’s in their master bathroom, sat on the edge of the tub. In his hands is a plastic cup, and he twists it back and forth in a small semicircle. As he descends the stairs, everyone immediately sits up more rigidly. A democracy means that anyone can call a meeting, should they feel like there is a need to discuss something as a group, if there is a decision to be made as a unit. They share glances until someone finally speaks: “Mate, you know she didn’t mean to ---”. He shakes his head and the room goes silent again. What's the one thing you want to hear from your parents most? the voice asks him again. He squats in front of the glass table in the middle of the floor, placing a stack of photographs on it. “We should do a video for Love It If We Made It.”