Now would Ossie really ever engage in dramatics for the sake of it?

Yes, obviously.

In this instance however, the cottage door is open and there's no sign of him in the garden. No- this is a living room conversation, and Ossie's planted firmly on the couch with his fingers laced together, pointer fingers up and pressed to his mouth. On the coffee table is a small, simple tin brooch of a blackbird. There's a silk robe folded over the back of the couch, and if Ossie were physically capable of looking rumpled, this might very well be a time where he'd look it.

"Good morning, Erin," he says without any emotion in his voice whatsoever.