It is easier to do what she came here for with a second pair of hands. Without the need to balance the light between her shoulder and chin, Maureen makes quick work of the clamp attaching the end of the hose to the washing machine. Even with the need to work quietly—a series of metallic clicks as wrench fits and unfits, the soft rasp of a screw escaping it's casement—, it takes only a minute or two before the clamp ring pops loose.

She tucks both wrenches under her arm. Hesitates for a split second over a moment's further study of the girl in her company. What's her footwear look like? Sensible, probably. "Did you see any of the mannequins on the way you came in?"

It's important to have an exit strategy, right? Especially when the next step of this apparently involves prying the rubber hose end off its machine fitting with a series of less than dead silent squeaks and squeals.