‘So let’s make Jules wear a monitoring device?’ says Adam brightly, hauling them both back into the present. ‘With the capacity to shock him remotely?’

‘You really think he’s OK?’

‘He’s passionate about the polar ice caps and Dinosaur Junior. That makes him more than fine. Come on.’ He reaches out for her hand and then lets his arm fall by his side.

‘OK, OK, fine.’

He smiles. ‘I think it’s a good decision. For all of us.’

By us he means Becky. Good for her to let go, is what he means. Becky feels her stomach unknot with the feeling that Adam is the net under her tight-rope.

‘Right,’ she says. ‘I think the spare room is all made up …’

‘That’s OK, I won’t need it,’ says Adam casually, ‘I’ll go to poker if Maisie’s going to be out.’

Becky turns to face him, her stomach knotting all over again. ‘Where?’

‘Pete’s new place in Ladbroke Grove?’

She wouldn’t dream of travelling to the opposite side of London in the same situation. She’d get on with stuff at home to quell the anxiety that her daughter was staying in a house she had never before visited, as if knowing the colour of the wallpaper would somehow make Maisie safer. Becky would potter about, phone in her back pocket, just in case Maisie needed to speak to her.

As it is, Becky will be in France and Adam will be in West London. Her jaw tightens. Did he tell Maisie she could go to the sleepover so he’d be free to play poker with his mates? She banishes the thought. It’s not useful. He’s doing her a favour by being on call; what do they call it, in loco parentis?

‘But what if something happens?’ she says. ‘And she needs to come home and you’re not here? It’ll take you ages to get to her.’

Adam turns to her, smiling. ‘Lily’s mum is at the house and Zee can always call me.’

Part of her is scalded with panic: by that time, it will be too late to save Maisie from whatever has happened. And yet another part of her knows that what he’s saying is entirely reasonable. If only she were able to feel the same reasoning in her bones, just a fraction of his confidence, an iota of his assurance. She wishes she was more like him.

‘OK,’ she says quietly. ‘OK then.’

‘I’ll fix that shelf in the hall before I go,’ he says, ‘then the shelf gets to have a good night too.’

‘Thank you,’ she says, trying a smile. ‘And please, keep your phone on and close to you?’

‘Of course I will. And I’ll be here when she comes home from school tomorrow. Come on,’ he winks. ‘This really is fine. Go and have some fun in Cannes.’