I’m making eggs, I say to Jenny, assuming that Jerome will take the hint and be on his way, but Jenny only goes and offers him more coffee. I am sick. I tell them that it was Baltic at the pitch, and that I don’t know what they were thinking of picking Maxwell’s Park as a suitable venue for a club. I describe how I cannot possibly think of a worse place and then I go on a bit about the wind and how it cuts you in two. I mention how hard it was for my fingers to work. I crack half a dozen eggs into the clear bowl and begin to beat them. I add spinach leaves and cheese. Maeve has a face on her because she doesn’t like eggs. I make tea because coffee causes me to heave. Jerome asks me about work and I answer with a curtness that he picks up on and finally he leaves.

Jenny wants to know why I was rude to her friend.

An ex-boyfriend does not a friend make.

I try to make it sound poetical so she won’t know that I am envious of Jerome. His easy elegance and confidence that it’s okay to remain friends with someone with whom you once lived, shared a life. Jenny sits with her knees under her beige jumper dress. She pulls the ends of her sleeves over her hands. I call the kids to eat. Maeve still has a face on her and Mikey and Joey want meat.

The day moves on and I watch Jenny with her tools, her face clammy with effort. I light the fire, even though it is early. There is an aroma of eggs in the room. Mikey and Joey and Maeve play rounders on the green. I do a bit of work and watch them through the window. I sit beside Jenny as she carves images of seaweed on to a piece of wood. This piece will be the big-deal part in a collection of carvings and drawings. She is inspired by the seaside. Running my palm over the carvings, I close my eyes and can feel bumps and scratches on the wood. Later on, the children come in from the green and they watch The Simpsons. We are all happy in this moment. I decide to run a bath for myself.

Setting myself up nicely, a towel within easy reach, I fill the bath and add a piece of seaweed, from the bucket beside the sink. Jenny’s beach collections invade all our space. I test the water with my feet one at a time and am left as though wearing a pair of red socks, with the markings from the hot water. Omelette vomit floats in the toilet. I flush it away.