The flat was familiar enough, but Jude glanced around to survey it all the same, if only to see what had changed.

He shook his head at the question, because although his mouth was a little dry he hadn’t been thirsty a moment ago. “I’ll make you one while you set up,” he suggested nonetheless, heading for the kettle before Kieran could protest. It might have been mostly to give himself something mindless to do while Kieran was getting out the paints, to tamp down an uncharacteristic rush of nerves with something habitual, normal. He made tea all the time.

And if he had waited until the kettle was whistling to hide the clinking of empty bottles a little as he tidied them up, discreetly - he hoped Eileen had had her share in these - that was mostly mindless too. When Jude moved away from the counter at last and paced back over to Kieran with the tea, he focused his attention on the paints instead, looking at the little flecks of dried paint on some of the caps, picking out the most-used colours, trying to imagine what other things Kieran sat and painted in his spare time. “Where do you, er, want me to -?”

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