She said, "You want coffee before you start?"

" Si," he said. Before he started what? The decor was fucking with his head, making him dizzy. Oh, yeah, fixing a leaking tap. Which he had no intention of doing. He wouldn't know where to begin.

He moved a magazine off the settee. It squeaked when he flopped down into it. Placed the magazine on top of the glass coffee table, next to the old-fashioned dial-operated red telephone, one of those models that once upon a time everybody used to have.

"You don't have any tools," she said.

"Thought I could use George's."

"I imagined you'd bring your own."

"I don't have any. I'm not a plumber."

"Right."

"You still have them?"

"You have to ask?" She disappeared into the kitchen. She shouted, "How's Maggie?"

"Good," he said.

"What? Speak up."

"Good," he said, louder.

"And Sofia?"

"Good."

"How's Sofia?"

"Great," he said, louder.

"You know, I'm so sorry, but I'm just grateful she landed on the cushion. No harm done. And whatever Maggie thinks, the drink has nothing to do with it, it's just me, you know me, clumsy…"

She babbled on. She'd never liked Maggie. The fact that Maggie was twenty years younger than Carlos had a lot to do with it. And Maggie had never warmed to her as a result. After what had happened with Sofia, the temperature of their relationship had grown decidedly cool. He tuned his mother out. Picked up the magazine, flicked through it. Gardening magazine. His mother didn't have a garden. Well, she shared a garden with the other members of the tenement, but there was a lawn, and that was all. No reason that she should have a gardening magazine. Maybe she was thinking of coming round to his, giving it a make-over.