After lunch has been cleared away by several discreet members of staff, Brendan’s parents go off to view a horse they’re considering buying (as you do) and the rest of us set up camp around the pool. It’s a lovely long pool in a secluded part of the garden that’s walled off for safety reasons by tall laurel hedges and a wooden gate. There’s a long row of solid wooden sun loungers with thick mattresses on the flagstone area, and a generous border of grass around the edges. At one end is a bar whose row of glass-fronted fridges is stocked with every drink imaginable. It’s so hard to comprehend this kind of wealth. Even the cash sitting in all those purchased beverages must be hundreds or thousands of pounds.

‘How are you feeling, sunshine?’ Brendan asks Tabs as he clips her oximeter onto her finger.

‘I’m good,’ she says. ‘I want to swim.’

‘That’s absolutely fine as long as you—oh, would you look at that. It’s all running like a Swiss watch in there.’ He pokes her in the breastbone.

It is. Her sats are at ninety-eight. I’m not sure when the thrill of seeing those numbers will fade.

‘Just take it easy,’ I tell her gently. ‘You can have fun, just remember to take breaks if you feel tired or breathless.’ I’m so used to managing her levels, to preempting every moment of exertion, that it will be a long time before I relax enough to let her activity levels run riot. Still, she looks to be full of life and raring to go, and Dave has taken up residence at the far end of the pool with a soft drink from the bar and a newspaper.

‘I’ll look after her,’ Brendan tells me. ‘Come on, sunshine. Let’s go make a splash.’

We put our swimming costumes on in our room after lunch. I help Tabby take off her sundress and hand her her goggles. Her little body is vibrating with excitement. The plaster over her scar is barely visible under her swimming costume—the joys of laparoscopic surgery.

‘We’re going to do cannonballs,’ Elsie, Mairead’s eldest, tells Tabs. She has a shock of ginger hair and is, according to both Gabe and Brendan, a total terror.

‘I hope no one wants to go swimming today,’ Brendan says, reaching behind him and tugging his t-shirt off in one fell swoop, ‘because I’m going to cannonball so hard that I’ll empty the whole damn pool of water.’

‘Nooo, Brendan!’ Elsie pushes him ineffectually on the thigh. ‘Not fair!’