‘Yeah, I’ve loved it. Seriously loved it. But when you get old, Chrissie, you’ll be able to look back on a life that’s accomplished so much, done so much good in the world, whereas I … well, I’m not saying being a stay-at-home dad isn’t valuable. I know it is. But I’m not sure I’m needed anymore. Maybe it’s time to … I don’t know, do something.’

‘Is this a mid-life crisis, Gareth?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake …’ Dad put a hand to his head and the tablet to his chest. He took a deep breath and lifted the device up once more. ‘All I’m saying is that when the kids are at school I could do something that, in only a small way, maybe, would help. I dunno. Maybe volunteer work at the food kitchens for the poor, that kind of thing. Help out with renewal of vegetation. Or give free classes on vegetable production to those in need. And, if all that goes well, maybe doing something like that full-time. We could employ a nanny or something, give work to a person who probably desperately needs it. God knows we’ve got the money to do it.’

There was silence at Mum’s end for a few seconds.

‘Let’s talk about this when I get home, Gareth,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know you were unhappy with your life and of course you should do something if you feel it has no meaning. Gotta go. Talk later. Bye.’

‘I’m not saying my life has no meaning, Chrissie …’ But she was gone. Dad stared at the screen for a moment or two and then put his tablet down on the kitchen table. He put it down with more force that I thought was strictly necessary. I suddenly realised that if he turned now, he’d catch me eavesdropping, so I tiptoed past the door and back to the pool room.

I could only hope that he didn’t notice the puddle of water I’d left outside the door or, if he did, that he wouldn’t put two and two together.

I got to have Zorro in my bed that night. It was the first time he’d slept with me.

I plumped up a pillow for him and he lay there, staring at me as I tickled him behind the ear. But after about twenty minutes he jumped off the bed and padded over to the closed door, where he sat and whined.

‘What is it, Z?’ I asked. ‘Can’t be needing a wee, because you don’t do wees, do you?’ Maybe I’d ask Mum if she could program that into him. It would make him even more realistic and I’d be happy to clean up any mistakes he might do around the house.