Saturday night, she had got them into bed as fast as possible, then lay on the sofa staring dumbly at bright, flickering television programmes. It was the first stretch of time she’d had to herself all day, but she barely had the energy to lift her head. She tried Mack’s number but he didn’t answer, and she couldn’t think of another person she felt like talking to. Sometimes motherhood seemed like the loneliest place in the world, Olivia thought. She’d lost touch with her work friends – they didn’t seem to have much in common any more – while lots of the women she’d met when the boys were tiny babies were now back at work and busy trying to juggle everything. Whenever she did see them, they would all keep telling her how lucky she was, having Mack earning so much money that she wasn’t forced back into an office. Then, after a glass of wine, they’d start confessing their guilt at not being a full-time mum like her, how terrible they sometimes felt when dropping their little ones off at nursery. It was as if nobody could win the game. (Olivia had once admitted that actually she sometimes longed to drop her boys off at a nursery for a whole day, and the others had looked at her with such raised-eyebrow condemnation that she had felt herself turn bright red.)

Now it was a grey, drizzly Sunday and she and the boys had so far weathered the baking of biscuits (flour everywhere), some arts and crafts (glitter everywhere), the bad-tempered building of a looping train track (resulting in a fight), followed by a picnic under the kitchen table for some reason (Olivia no longer had the stamina to say no). They had watched some telly. Played some games. Been out for a quick walk to the swings when the drizzle held off for half an hour. A mere ninety minutes remained before Mack was due to return, and Olivia was hanging by a single fraying thread by this point, desperate for him to come home and take over.

Washing up in the kitchen with one eye on the clock while the radio burbled companionably, she found herself relishing this brief respite, pretty much the only time she’d had to herself that entire day so far. But then, from overhead, there had come the inevitable sound of an almighty crash and a yell, followed by breathless sobs.

‘MUMMY!’ shouted Harry and she raced upstairs and into her bedroom to find Stanley flat on his back there with a crumpled photo in his hand, and one of her drawers pulled out beside him.

‘What on earth is going on?’ she cried. ‘Stanley, are you all right? Boys, you’re not even supposed to be in here – you know that!’