Head in his arms, he slid to the floor, weeping quietly into his left sleeve, right palm pressed against the front door of his flat.

His mother was crying, he could hear it in her voice. For a full ten minutes since he’d shut the door in her face, she hadn’t given up; and for a full ten minutes, he hadn’t said a word in response.

If he had done, she’d have heard it in his voice, too.

She was so close; if it weren’t for a plank of wood in between them, he could have reached out and touched her...

“Percy! Percy dear, can’t we just talk for a moment? Please! We don’t… we don’t even have to talk about Dad…”

Heat flooding his face, Percy lifted his head and glared at the door, furiously wiping away the tears and willing his voice not to quaver.

“I’ve got nothing to say to Father or you!”

Molly fell silent, and Percy waited, lip trembling like a child’s until he heard, at last, footsteps fading away down the stairs.

Alone and right, he buried his face in his hands and let the sobs come.