“He says he has plans,” he heard Mum saying, and he attacked his bottom teeth pretending they were Dad. He could imagine the response to that. And it would involve ‘she,’ too, just to rub salt in the wound. Anton spat, imagining Dad’s face in the bottom of the sink, and checked his reflection before heading downstairs. Jude wouldn’t be long anyway, even if this time the bell had been Dad. It was only round the corner. And—
“Ah, there you are, Natasha.”