Becky reminds herself that this is one of life’s joyful moments. She takes her phone out of her pocket and puts it face-down on the sideboard, vowing not to look at it again while she is with her family. One day soon she will delete her Instagram app. Delete him.

‘We’ve been talking about what to do for Dad’s birthday. We’ve been making lists. You’ll be proud.’

‘So what are you thinking?’ says Becky.

‘I don’t know.’ Adam takes a seat next to her. ‘Something low key in the evening. At a pub, maybe? The room on top of The Three Bells?’

‘It’s quite small.’

‘I dunno, I went to take a look at it with Kate the Sunday before last. I think it’ll be fine. Kate’s mate had her thirtieth there.’

‘Kate’s mate,’ says Maisie. ‘I’m a fren of Ben. I’m a pal of Hal.’

Becky had seen their friend Kate for lunch since then, and Kate hadn’t said anything about it. Becky has no right to information from either of her friends, and more than that, any information proffered shouldn’t cause a dent beyond casual curiosity – and yet, something shifts and slips inside her, jarringly making space for new, as yet, unnamed possibilities.

‘This is your big 3-2,’ she says quickly. ‘Why don’t you get some of your friends together for a dinner party at your flat?’

‘He doesn’t want to cook on his own birthday, Mum,’ says Maisie.

‘Of course he does. He loves cooking.’

‘I might have the builders in doing some stuff, I don’t know, not sure yet,’ says Adam.

‘We’ll throw you a party, Dad,’ says Maisie, and gets up to leave.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Sorry, Mum. Gotta message Lily about some stuff,’ she says, loping out the door.

Becky pours coffee, pressing her hand tight over its lid. She finds herself absorbed in the tiny bubbles sliding over the black water.

‘So, have you got any Danish blood?’ asks Adam.

‘What?’

‘Some boy’s been teasing Maisie about her height. I think he may have been trying to compliment her, but she’s still annoyed.’

‘Dad was tall. You’d have to ask him. Oh no you can’t: he fucked off to Malaga.’

Adam laughs. There is an awkward pause, something charged in the air. ‘Maisie asked me to move in,’ he says.

‘Of course she did. She loves you.’

‘She likes it when we’re all together.’

‘You know it’s not that simple. Remember what happened at Christmas?’

‘It was a great Christmas.’

‘It really was,’ says Becky. ‘But the look on her face when the time came for you to go home.’