A loud cough answered, followed by retching and the wet slap of something heavy hitting standing water. He rolled his eyes. ‘Clean up when you’re done, please.’ The door popped open. Cindy slid through. ‘Have you got any mint tea or fennel?’ He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Seriously?’ ‘Yeah. I don’t drink that shit but Sam swears it will settle her stomach.’ ‘Now?’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Unless you want your bathroom to smell like puke and cookies for the rest of the night.’ With that, Cindy darted back into the bathroom and slammed the door. Dan rubbed his face with his hands. Fuck me . . . On his return to the kitchen, he paused to peer into the living room. The music wasn’t any he recognised; a slow, Bob Marley sort of style. In the middle of the room, dancing with his mother, a tall, wrestler-wide black man in a pale grey suit, sang along at the top of his lungs. Dan watched his mother sway to the music.
