Olivia had been having a trying weekend ever since Mack had left for his stag-do. On Saturday morning she’d taken the boys to the playground, hoping they would wear themselves out with all the fresh air and charging about, but a mere ten minutes after arriving, an older boy had pushed Harry down the slide too hard, making him bump his head and cry; and then Stanley, fired up by injustice and fraternal solidarity, had punched the other boy and they’d ended up grappling in the sandpit. Olivia had raced over to separate them, but had clearly been so ineffective that the older boy’s mum felt the need to intervene too, with a few choice remarks about Olivia’s children for good measure. ‘Come on, Arthur, let’s stay away from these nasty boys’ had been her parting shot, arm around her smirking son.

On Saturday afternoon Olivia took them swimming, something they usually did as a family, and always a big treat for the boys. Both Stanley and Harry loved the way Mack would throw them up in the air and catch them in the pool, and would shriek in delight whenever he let them ride on his back, clinging around his neck, their small froglet legs pumping with glee. As soon as the three of them got into the water this time, though, it was apparent to them all that swimming was going to be a lot less fun without Mack there. Olivia was more fearful than her husband, more worried about drowning or choking possibilities, despite the boys’ neoprene swim-vests keeping them safe, and she couldn’t relax into rough-and-tumble games in the way he could. She did her best to entertain them, but it felt forced, artificial, and she kept eyeing other mothers, laughing and playing with their children, and wondered what was wrong with her that she couldn’t behave similarly. Was she boring her own sons? Why had she thought she could manage this alone?