Yusuf tries it the following week. The same sink, the same plate.

He gets the heat up the back of his neck, and this time he catches it, because he has been writing that one word down for a fortnight. He says, out loud, I need twenty minutes, I am going to walk to the end of the road and back.

His son looks at him as though he has said something in another language. Yusuf goes anyway. He spends the first ten minutes composing a speech about respect, notices he is doing it, and goes back to looking at the cars.

He comes back at twenty minutes. He is not calm exactly, but he is available, and the conversation they then have takes four minutes and ends with the plate in the sink. He does not feel triumphant. He feels slightly awkward, which is what it usually feels like the first time.