She’s not sure whether she’s more bothered by the removal of an opportunity to teach her daughter something, or the feeling that she’s been undermined by him. She should pursue these grievances really, to avoid it all happening again and yet she runs out of steam at the sight of his broad and warm smile. Then she can’t help but be won over by his good intentions and ability to look at the bigger picture in a way she always fails to. And his generosity, like a little kid giving away all his sweets in the playground. And it’s his birthday. On balance she decides to drop it.

‘You wanted to talk to me. I’m here,’ says Adam, the smile still on his face. ‘All ears. What’s really going on in that head of yours?’ He takes two empty wine glasses from her hands, places them by the sink and turns her to face him. They look at each other, a moment too long perhaps, in low light and smiles. ‘Thank you,’ he says, and she thinks she sees his eyes try to focus below the influence of all that booze. ‘Thank you for hosting tonight. It was really fun. I had so much fun.’

He is brimming with wellbeing and the moment is so joyful that she can’t bring herself to destroy it with further conflict about Matthew and Scott and how any decisions made could seismically reshuffle their carefully balanced life together.

‘I had a nice time, too,’ she says.

He never seems to have a list of problematic ‘issues’ in the same way she does. Never seems to run out of steam, or kindness, whereas, she seems to have to ration both. Why is that? Was that always the case?

And now, a moment passes through and they both feel its flashing edges, the thrum of its warm heart, the sparkle of its energy – impossible not to, what with them playing house, having these conversations about the family, sharing a kitchen late at night, catching up after a dinner party. Just like husband and wife. He is still holding her arms gently, still looking into her eyes when he says, ‘I realized something tonight …’

She thinks about his kindness and generosity, his wisdom, how much his friends love him, how much he loves her daughter, how he is the one she can talk to about her day, her mundane life.

‘I think that I really need to talk to Kate,’ he says.

‘Why?’

The scaffolding behind her smile melts and too late she realizes that this is not the question she meant to ask out loud.

Becky had been watching Kate that night, between courses and conversations, Kate had worn a top that Becky had never seen before: scarlet, one-shoulder, with a black lightning flash motif, the kind that draws attention and appreciative comments. And she had a new haircut. Again, drawing appreciative comments.