Annie laughed and realized that for the first time since it had happened, she actually did find it funny: mortifying but funny.

“I will never be able to look at that phrase again without cringing,” said Annie. “And have you noticed how it’s on bloody everything? Mugs, tea towels, notebooks . . . I am forever destined to be reminded that my husband’s mistress had better tits than me.”

Now it was John’s turn to laugh, a deep and rumbling laugh that somehow fitted with the wildness of their surroundings.

“Mari said she bet the government of 1939 could never have foreseen that their rousing slogan would be used in such a disrespectful manner,” said John.

“No,” said Annie. “I’m sure they didn’t.” They were both laughing now. It felt nice.

“For what it’s worth, I think he’s a fool.”

Annie’s heart skipped, and it was a heroic effort not to gaze into John’s eyes and lose herself. “Well, you know all about the hideous demise of my marriage,” she said breezily. “I think that entitles me to know something about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Have you and Celeste’s mum been separated long?”

“Years,” said John. “I used to drink. A lot. Especially after my mum died, but quite a bit before that too. When I met Dee, Celeste’s mum, I was partying pretty hard, which was fine at the time because she was partying hard too. But then Celeste came along, and I realized I had to sort myself out before I turned into my father.”

“So you stopped drinking?”

“Yes. I underwent what counselors would call a lifestyle change; Dee called it a personality bypass. She could go out and get wasted and then not drink for a fortnight, whereas I was all or nothing. I either drank or I didn’t; there was no middle ground. That’s not conducive to a stable environment for a baby.”

“Are you an alcoholic?” Annie asked.

“No. But I had potential.”

“So no more parties,” said Annie.

“No more parties,” John agreed. “Unfortunately, Dee had fallen for party John. Sober John was a lot less fun; like I said, I was all or nothing back then. I didn’t want to drink, and I didn’t like being around people who did. Dee and I split up when Celeste was about four years old. It was amicable. I had a lot of shit to reconcile, and she knew that.”

“And you never drank again?” Annie was racking her brain trying to remember if she’d left any empty wine bottles in the kitchen. She didn’t want to give him the impression she was a lush.