Off he goes. Dinner takes a normal amount of time, and he comes back from it looking tired and miserable but still capable of walking.
"The usual. It's just - harder to take sitting in the same room with him pretending to be the son he wants, right now."
"I guess that's something it makes sense to say? I'm not really..." He rubs his face with both hands. "I'm gonna go to sleep," he says, and heads for his room.
Berete is doing the very last of the post-dinner kitchen-tidying. There is a platter of steamed buns, decorated according to her usual convention to indicate their various fillings, in one of the spots where she usually leaves things for people to grab as they're passing through.
"I'm probably going to organize his attic at some point. He didn't ask me to, but it seems worth doing."
"It is a bit of a disaster up there, isn't it? I've had three different girls refuse to clean it. Two of them said they heard strange noises when they opened the door; the third one just said she didn't want to trip over something expensive."
"One said ghosts, the other said singing. Eventually they agreed it was singing ghosts."