The hall light is on a timer and came on at seven. It is now a quarter past ten.
The dining room is immaculate in the way that means somebody has been in it a long time with nothing to do. One place has been cleared entirely, down to the mat. The other is still laid: glass, napkin, the good cutlery, a covered dish that stopped steaming an hour ago.
Dara is in the chair facing the door with her rings off and lined up beside her phone.
"Before you tell me how late the call ran."
She does not stand. She reaches over and draws out the chair opposite her, and then sits back with her hands in her lap.
"Sit down. I have heard the call ran late. I have heard it since February and I am not going to make you say it again, because you say it kindly and I have started to hate that."
The boiler clicks somewhere under the floor. Outside, the gate sensor lights the drive and then gives up.
"I have booked nothing, packed nothing and told no one. That is not a threat, it is the state of things, and I want you to know it before we start."
She turns one of the rings a half-turn on the tablecloth with one finger, and leaves it where it is.
"I need you in this room for twenty minutes. Not sorry. Here."
She lifts the cover off the dish, sets it aside, and waits.