I am nervous. I have sliced the pork chops thinly as they have a tendency to do in Spain. They have developed an attractive colour from the olive oil and the razor-thin slices of garlic that have caramelized on the frying pan. This aroma is one of my favourites. I have made a salad for Maeve. I have also cooked petits pois. I spoon the peas on to the plates and they move about. They are out of control. I am out of control and I hope I have added sufficient Valium to Jenny’s mashed potato because I have a thing about her tolerance levels and the noise of the Spanish children on the paseo comes back to me and the sensation that seemed to engulf my body that I wanted Jenny and I will always want Jenny. I have young voices of our very own to guard, and to protect.

They are hungry tonight because we have had a day out on the beach. We took a kite on account of the breeze and what started off as a pleasant experience became a little fraught with arguments over whose turn it was to fly the kite and whose turn it was to gather the string. The string became knotted and I was forced to keep my patience in check. The kite is in the boot of the car now. I didn’t want to drive to the beach today but Jenny said that she was tired and there might be some driftwood lying about on account of the overnight storm that seemed to take everyone by surprise. I don’t particularly want any more wood lying about the place, nonetheless I agreed to drive.

We start to eat and I have been careful to make sure that Jenny eats all of her mashed potato so I haven’t given her a large portion, three tablespoons, enough so I know she will eat it all and that the Valium will sink into her body. I look at my family, really look at them now as we are halfway through this meal and I realize that I cannot go back. I get more water and I go to the photograph on the wall, above the mantelpiece, that I have had there for years.

Jenny calls me back to the table and I tell her I’ll be there shortly. The image is something that I can file away. The people in the photograph – my family – are my possessions and they are not something that I will be giving away any time soon to anyone and especially not to Jerome Fagan. These people are my cargo.