‘Are you actually sitting on a commode?’ Alex asked as he circled me for attachments.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Bon appetit!’

We laughed as he started to crunch a poppadum. Then he lifted the bottle of wine, throttled it by the neck and drank straight from it. ‘Ah, here, I can’t do it, Sinéad, I just can’t,’ he said, taking another fast swig. ‘We’re not, well, to be fair, we’re not organised, I’m not that kind of person, you know, that would know what to do … it’s terrifying … and I need to get you that special bed.’

‘I’m on a commode. I’m living on a toilet – we don’t need a special bed. Besides. We have a special bed.’ I tried to wink.

He guffawed, knowing my winking was bullshit.

‘OK, maybe we can manage without the bed, but I need to get you oxygen, I’m supposed to get this number, and then ring it,’ he said, trailing off. ‘Hospice, I was supposed to be given a Hospice link, or number or woman or something,’ he said, swigging again, and talking more loudly. ‘Molly, Molly has it for me, shit, shit … The number, it was Molly who … Her legs, Molly’s, they were shaking … Poor women, that was some fright.’

‘Calm down, it’s grand, drink your wine. You need to stop panicking. You’ve had a bit of a shock, we all have …’

And he did drink.

‘Hear me out,’ I squared with him. ‘Please. I’m a good wife, right?’

We both made faces as though the food we were about to eat had gone off.

‘OK, I’m an OK mother, right, can we agree on this?’

He nodded. ‘Come on, Sinéad, you’re a great mother, you’ve always been great.’

‘I’ve been absent, you know, and look what I’ve gone and done. I should have told you. I’m so sorry. I really meant to, you know, I wanted to, I just, I really couldn’t.’

‘You were absent,’ he said, swallowing the wine.

‘I know, I really can’t go back …’

‘But we are all absent,’ he went on, interrupting, ‘even when we’re there. I’ve been absent too. I’ve regrets, the way I’ve been, and distant, afraid to make a decision, take a chance, taken you for granted. I always knew who you were, you know, you didn’t change that much, Ms Sinéad Hynes. You were always a terrific dose, but buyer beware. See, I love you, you were a big gamble …’

‘Lovely, an outsider?’ I said.

‘No, you’re getting me wrong, I loved that about you. And me, that I’d take a chance on you. And they love you, the kids, you make us all laugh, even when you weren’t there.’

‘With me or at me?’

‘At you.’

He put the bottle down.

‘They love you so much.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, Sinéad –’ he cupped my face in his hands – ‘you’re so hard on yourself. Please don’t, it’s fine, you’re a human being. Fine. A Fine one. We’re just humans, chance encounter, trying.’