He was glad too. He’d have been miserable to only see Josie at weekends and for a holiday. Single parenthood was a hundred times better than that, even if holding down his demanding job and ensuring Josie was happy left him feeling as if his treadmill was set to its maximum and he could only just keep up.

‘I don’t have to go to school today, do I?’ Josie said suddenly, through her Weetabix.

‘No, it’s half-term. Back on Monday.’ Nico took another mouthful of granola, though he wanted to put down his spoon when he saw the apprehension that pinched Josie’s face. Till this year, Josie had loved Barrack Road Primary School, a couple of streets away. Having lapped up pre-school work books she’d had a head start on reading and writing, had made friends readily and come home babbling about the games they played.

This year school meant anxiety and isolation.

Another school, St Kits, had been suffering falling rolls and then the ageing school building had developed problems at about the time the head teacher wanted to retire. A decision had been made to erect temporary buildings in the grounds of Barrack Road and amalgamate the two schools, meaning two classes to each year group. Josie, unfortunately, had been chosen to balance numbers in a class of mainly St Kits children who’d already formed their friendship groups and, transplanted, clung to them.

She didn’t care for her new teacher, Mrs Calcashaw – also late of St Kits. Her objections were vague: Calcashaw was a funny name or Mrs Calcashaw’s shoe had a crack in it. Josie yearned to be allocated to the other class, taught by Mrs Symonds.

Now she sighed. ‘I suppose I have to go back next week, don’t I?’ Her eyes shone with tears.

Hardly able to bear even this tiny sadness, Nico wanted to scoop her up and declare that she didn’t. He wouldn’t go to work, he wouldn’t travel on to Surrey for a meeting about a new ice rink and snow dome and how sports teams could be encouraged to make it their home turf. He’d stay at home with Josie and fend off any dragons trying to bring her grief.

But that wasn’t pragmatic. ‘Hey,’ he murmured softly, rubbing a back that felt so small and vulnerable that he could distinguish every bump of her backbone. ‘Tell me what’s making you sad, sweetheart.’

Josie sniffed. ‘Don’t know.’

‘You can tell me anything.’ Nico reached out and picked her out of her chair. He should be heading for work but he wasn’t leaving Josie like this. His twanging heartstrings would yank him back like elastic.