The most stupidly dangerous thing Maggie had ever done had been to explore an old quarry at Wye Downs in Kent without telling anyone where she was going. It was overgrown with brambles, and she hadn’t spotted a chalk scree until it gave way beneath her foot, at which point she had skidded and tumbled right down to its base, twisting her ankle so badly she couldn’t walk. She might have been stranded there for hours, overnight even, if it hadn’t been for a fleece-clad couple from Folkestone who came to her rescue. Still, that all seemed like a stroll in the park, compared to the stupidly dangerous thing she was doing now: driving to Devon so that Amelia could stay with Will in his mother’s Newton Abbot house. There were some trips when even a hard hat and all the latest kit couldn’t protect you.

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked her daughter, who wasn’t saying very much in the passenger seat.

‘Excited. A bit nervous,’ Amelia replied, fiddling with her earbuds and shrugging. She’d taken care with her appearance that morning, Maggie noticed: a lot of make-up had been applied, hair had been straightened, her favourite mustard-yellow striped Breton top selected. Would Will notice, or appreciate, just how much effort had been put into this ensemble? Probably not. The tosser.

Maggie meanwhile felt absolutely no excitement about the day ahead. Instead she was a vat of curdling dread. Will had been easier to deal with when he had remained merely a silent reproach in her mind, an enigma kept safely at a distance. Now that the details of his life were being inked in once more, she found herself wanting to look away from them, to put her hands over her ears and remain in ignorance, just as he had done to her. For starters, it turned out that Will was living in Philippa’s old house with his new partner Celeste (!) and their two young children (!!). So Amelia had half-siblings on top of everything else. Why had nobody thought to tell them that, either? And, more pertinently, how come Will had deigned to stay and look after these other offspring, when he had run a mile from his first child? She felt deeply, bruisingly hurt on hearing this piece of news; way more disconcerted than being told that he had settled down with another woman.

As for Amelia . . . ‘How do you feel, knowing you’ve got – wait, are they boys or girls? Sisters or brothers?’ she had asked cautiously the night before, as the details began emerging. They were in the cosy living room together, one sofa each, warm rain beating a tattoo against the window, and it had been like having a live grenade chucked through the front door, hearing about these mystery children. BOOM! There goes your quiet evening.