The excited squeals and shouts of the happy families around Olivia seemed to rebound from the walls, loud and distorted, mocking her own shortcomings. She thought longingly about how, as a teenager, she’d loved to swim in the sea with her friends, how confident and free she’d felt when buoyant and weightless in the water. This was hell in comparison. ‘Shall we go?’ she asked the boys when they started splashing each other peevishly, and felt guilty at just how relieved she was when they said yes. Unfortunately she’d somehow managed to lose her locker key and the three of them had to stand around, shivering and goosepimpled, in the chlorine- and pee-scented changing area while a member of staff did his best to track down and open the locker with all their towels and clothes. People were staring at her nosily as they went past, and Olivia felt her cheeks burn particularly hotly when Harry started to cry. Yes, I am the most terrible mother. No, I don’t deserve to be responsible for any children. Yes, you’re right to judge me – I am totally doing the same thing myself.

By the time they were finally dressed and leaving the leisure centre, still a bit damp and cold, Olivia felt as if she was having to hold herself together very, very tightly to avoid some public crying of her own. Then, on the way out of the car park, she managed to clip a bollard with the car and it was the final straw. The breaking of the dam. Tears spurted from her eyes, a strangled howl burst from her throat and then she was sobbing with such abandon that she had to indicate and pull over for a moment in order to gather herself and blow her nose.

‘Mummy’s CRYING,’ said Stanley in interest, while Harry, rather more callously, drummed his feet against his seat and wailed, ‘I’m HUNGRY.’ Then a car beeped impatiently behind her and Olivia had to gulp back her sobs, put her hand up – Sorry – and move on.

Sorry. So sorry. It seemed as if she had been saying that word for years. Would a time ever come when she didn’t feel sorry?