Seren, arranging some Sylvanian Families dogs into a circle on the kitchen floor, completely ignored her – rude little madam – and so George had stepped in, repeating the same offer to her, pretty much in the exact same words, to which Seren had given him a willing smile and lisped, ‘Yes please.’

‘Great,’ said Em through gritted teeth. ‘That’s a plan then.’

Her own two had always loved such places when they were of a similar age, clamouring to go on tractor rides and enjoying being able to stroke and feed assorted animals. This one was a mere five miles from where they were staying, the forecast was good, and she was sure they would all have a lovely time. Day one of the holiday and she was already winning.

Unfortunately, the reality was not working out quite as idyllically as she’d envisaged so far.

First stop: the petting zoo, where Seren had been scared of the pygmy goats. No, she didn’t want to hold a baby rabbit. She definitely didn’t want to feed the ponies. She didn’t even want to go down the big astro-slides.

‘Come on! It’ll be really fun,’ Em said encouragingly. ‘Look, I’ll go first to show you it’s not scary, okay?’

How to feel like a complete weirdo, shoving your feet into a sack, gaily crying ‘Wheeee!’ and praying that your bottom wouldn’t become wedged in the rather too-narrow sides as you slid down, she found herself thinking moments later. Other kids were staring at her – possibly in alarm, rather than awe – but Seren didn’t even give her that courtesy, which made her feel even more of a chump. (George at least had been gallant enough to put a thumb up and wink. ‘Incredibly athletic performance there, Em,’ he’d said, as Seren tugged at his hand to go elsewhere.)

‘How about soft-play, then?’ Em suggested weakly in the end when they entered its deafening arena. ‘Me and your dad will sit here and have a coffee while we watch you, Seren. Doesn’t it look cool?’

Izzie and Jack had never needed the slightest bit of encouragement when it came to these primary-coloured monstrosities, flinging off their shoes and racing in without a backward glance, leaping joyfully into the ball-pit and crawling through tunnels with abandon. Seren, though, was less keen. ‘Daddy, you come with me,’ she’d said, clutching at his hand and towing him towards the entrance.

‘Oh, but I think it’s really for children,’ he had said, eyeing up the café counter. ‘I’m not sure daddies are allowed to—’

‘They are. That man is,’ said Seren, pointing. ‘Please?’

‘Go on then,’ he’d said with an apologetic glance back at Em. ‘Just for a few minutes.’