[Charlie makes a noise low, low, low in his chest like the tired growl of an animal totally inured to their situation. The questions prompts him to drain what's left of his pint and waving the barman down for anyway, weekly allowance be damned.

No, it's not that bad. Really it isn't. But--]

Teenage girls are a mystery wrapped in a enigma. They don't even make sense - get just absolutely fussed over the tiniest things. They leave their crap strewn round the whole flat, but god forbid I throw my jacket somewhere it inconveniences them. It's a bloody nightmare. The state of the washroom alone--

[He makes a vague gesture with his hands, mouth pressed into a thin line. There aren't even words for the things he's seen, Drake.]