I’m watching Everybody Loves Raymond when Lindsay walks in, still in her pyjamas, to interrupt my morning ritual.
“Look,” she starts suddenly, having evidently revved up beforehand for this encounter, “I’m sorry about what I said last night.”
“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine” I mumble – not entirely convincingly – through a mouthful of ham and cheese toastie, refusing to take my eyes from the screen.
“No, it’s not,” she says, wringing her hands in my periphery, “I didn’t accept your feelings because I felt guilty. There’s something you don’t know about me. About me and… and your father.”