‘No chopping,’ Olivia said weakly, but her voice was unheard, unnoticed by the scrum of her husband and sons. They reminded her of a comic-strip fight, one depicting arms and legs emerging from a cloud of dust. Through the back window she could see next door’s cat saunter along the fence, a vision of leisureliness compared to the melee this side of the glass.

‘Who’s chopping me? Who’s daring to chop the mighty Daddy?’ bellowed Mack, straightening from his crouched position so that the boys, thrilled, were forced to cling onto him tighter in order to avoid falling to the floor. ‘And where are my boys?’

‘Here we are,’ squeaked Harry breathlessly, wriggling and squirming, drumming his small bare feet against his father’s hip. ‘Here we are!’

‘Aha,’ cried Mack, grabbing a foot as Harry giggled and yelped. ‘And another one!’ he cheered, clutching Stanley’s ankle with his other hand. ‘I’ve got me two boys now. What shall I do with them?’

‘Mack . . .’ Olivia said, because neither he nor they ever knew when to stop with these rough-and-tumble games, whipping each other into such a state of frenzy that they almost always ended in injury and tears. It drove her mad that he would work them up like this just before he left the house, so that she’d have to deal with the fallout once he’d gone. It was still only eight-thirty in the morning and they were already wild. Meanwhile the cat outside had dropped in one liquid movement to the flowerbed, like a commando trained in stealth, and she felt a pang of envy for its freedom to go where it pleased. ‘MACK,’ she said again, louder this time, because the three of them were still grappling and yelling. ‘Don’t you need to go?’

He stopped and the game was over, but the boys weren’t ready for it to end and charged at his legs, pummelling his thighs and trying to haul him over, with protesting shouts. ‘No, no,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Mummy’s right, that’s enough. I need to go.’

Mummy’s fault, more like, Olivia thought dismally as the boys howled and stamped. Mummy the killjoy ruins everything again. She could smell her own unwashed body as she bent to try and console Harry, and wished she’d had time to shower before Mack left. With the boys now wound up like battling clockwork toys, it would be ages before she could manage five minutes to herself for such a luxury.

‘See you tomorrow,’ he said over the ruckus, extricating himself first from one red-faced twin, then another, and walking quickly away. ‘Bye, boys. Be good for Mummy!’