We arrive home from our holiday to another household altogether: the oldest one, the middle one and the oldest one’s girlfriend have been in charge for more than a fortnight. The food in the fridge is strange, sourced from unfamiliar shops. The kitchen table looks like the centre of a boiler room stock fraud operation, with computer screens everywhere and power cords dividing the space at waist height. Below the sink, the dog and the cat are scrapping. After more than a year of avoiding each other, both animals have suddenly gone on the offensive.
“They fight?” I say.
