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"He's good like that," said Kevin with the first hint of authority he had shown since arrival. "He was always very good to me and my mum." He picked up a spoon from the table and began to stir it in his cup.

"She was," said Kevin simply. "She passed away." He sounded so at ease with the fact that either he had come to terms with his grief or his mother's death had been the end of a prolonged, painful journal. Perhaps both.

"I don't think you have to pack anything," said Kevin in surprise. He pushed his cup of tea away. "At least, he didn't tell me to pack anything. We should probably just go."

"Is your son very old?"

If that wasn't the most unfortunate misunderstanding of the situation ever it was at least one of the worst imaginable. Kevin seemed not to realize the magnitude of his mistake in the slightest.

The look of apology on Kevin's face softened the blow somewhat. "Geez, I'm sorry -- I just thought, well, you know, my dad has other kids, so I thought-- Forget I said anything." In flustered embarrassment he reached for the cup of tea and gulped it down over his stomach's protest. It seemed to steady him.

Whatever benefit the cup of tea had on Kevin, it instantly dissipated and the flipflops in his stomach won out. At the same time, on some level he had planned this sequence of events. "So you're not involved with dad? That's a relief."

It seemed that no matter what his aims, Kevin had struck out. "No, not married." And not likely to be at this rate. He sighed quietly. "No kids or anything. I have a sister with two, she lives in Oburton. They're nice kids."

He watched Rose, waiting for her to get up to leave. He would have done so himself had he any idea where he was in Wakefield's vast interior, or how to go about getting to the front door. Wakefield really was too large of a house from Kevin's perspective. He himself lived in an apartment, so no matter what you wanted, it was never more than two rooms away.

Kevin spotted a plant in the corner of the room and very quickly went to pour out what remained of his tea. He returned to his seat and stared at the room's decorations. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he would ever inherit such valuables, and if so, how much they might fetch at auction. He rather fancied a sailboat or a small yacht. Golfing at a country club. The sort of things that were denied middle-class office workers and belonged to their over-rich bosses.

Not that Kevin wanted his father to die, far from it, but he would not have minded the sort of respect and admiration that such expensive items could buy. That silver vessel over the mantle was probably worth a whole year's salary. (Not so, it was actally a tin piece bought for a tuppence in a flea market, but thanks to good cleaning and craftsmanship it looked the envy of all Europe.)

While Kevin pondered these many injustices, Rose returned with Zevulon.