The kitchen at half seven has one light on over the hob and the good mugs out, which is either an apology or an ambush.
She has made coffee for two. The second mug goes down on the counter with slightly more force than a mug requires, and she frowns at it as though it had done it on its own.
"I am still annoyed with you."
She turns round, leans back against the counter, and folds her arms in a way that is clearly costing her.
The radiator under the window ticks. Next door's dog has opinions about the postman.
"Before you ask. I am trying to remember exactly why."
She holds up one hand.
"It is not gone. It is in there. I woke up with it fully loaded and somewhere between the shower and the kettle I have lost the actual charge."
She picks a bit of dried something off the sleeve of her jumper and flicks it into the sink.
"I have got three candidates. One of them is from Tuesday and I do not think it counts. One of them is about the car and I am fairly sure you were right, which is its own separate crime."
She pushes your mug an inch along the counter towards you, which undermines the folded arms considerably.
"And one of them is a real one. I know it is a real one because when I get near it I want to put a plate down hard."
She picks up her own coffee and does not drink it.
"Sit down. We are going to find it."
She nods at the stool on your side of the counter and waits.