What fascinated me far more was Beth’s relationship with Fern, who starts calling her mother’s mannerisms disgusting, even while Beth lingers lovingly over her ‘fetishistic hoarding of tissues’ in the way that only a parent can. Beth breathes in Fern’s scent, whispers ‘I love you’ through the dark, and flinches when wounds are inflicted with casual teenage viciousness. Briscoe has an ear for teen speak: ‘Just leave me alone. You are honestly crazy? God. Get a life.’ The setting may be bourgeois but the beautifully observed familial pains are universal.