Joscelin reaches out, rather forcefully grabs Cooper's hand, and stuffs a stack of crisp, new £20 notes into it. He has no idea what repairing a window actually costs, but £300 ought to cover it, right? "There. For your pains. And this is for Nancy." He's also carrying a shopping bag; he shoves it at Cooper. Inside are the clothes she'd given him. They've been cleaned and pressed, rips and tears magically repaired.

"We're even now." It sounds surprisingly like a threat.