Her relationship with Mack been so easy before the boys were born. They’d each had their separate jobs and friends and hobbies, but always clicked back like jigsaw pieces whenever they were together. She’d find her gaze drawn to his across a party and feel a throb of joy that she’d be going home with him later, that he was her other half. But then, with the arrival of their sons, it was as if they’d been cast into different corners with new labels slapped upon them. He was now the Big Provider, still with his own job, friends and hobbies, while she’d been given the role of Loving Homemaker, who had time for nothing and no one outside the home, least of all herself. They had been winched further and further apart until he seemed far out of reach. It was hard to remember now how they’d been as newly-weds; even harder to remember how it had felt to be her own self, Olivia, before she’d become Mrs Jim Mackintosh and Mum.

Until yesterday, that was. Yesterday, when she had been forced right out of her numbness, by almost colliding with Em’s daughter Izzie on her bike down at Swanpool. And even though it had been a shocking experience – she could almost hear the brakes of her car still screeching in her ears – Olivia hadn’t panicked or gone to pieces. She hadn’t dwelt on the what-ifs and what-might-have-beens at all, despite the fact that car accidents had always been a terror of hers, still there in the back of her mind even after the many thousands of miles she must have driven by now. She’d actually coped pretty brilliantly, if she said so herself. She’d kept a cool head and looked after the girl when she dissolved into a panic attack, and got her home safely afterwards. It had felt really good, actually. Like she was a proper, responsible adult with some agency – a person who did things. Maybe not as worthless as she had been thinking.

Then there had been the time spent at the pool as well. Having the chance to swim a few lengths alone, enjoy the relaxed feeling of floating in water, chatting to a friendly woman. Nobody needed their armbands fixing or saving from a potential drowning incident. When was the last time she’d been able to swim like that? Certainly before the boys were born. She hadn’t done any form of exercise since then, unless you counted walking to the local shops and back, hauling along a double-buggy.

Afterwards she had eaten her roast dinner (delicious), drunk a massive glass of Sauvignon Blanc (ditto) and then lain on the sofa all evening, watching cookery shows and soap operas, deliberately not switching on her phone. She would return Mack’s calls soon, she vowed. Just . . . not yet.