‘I reckon,’ Faye says, in a way that makes the word seem unnatural to her, ‘that you should leave her in peace. We have to let her focus on the camp. You have to stop finding reasons to call her.’

‘I’m not . . . I just . . .’ He sets his fingertips on the score, but doesn’t pick it up.

Faye laughs. ‘It’s good you’re here,’ she says to me. ‘Take his mind off Annabel and what she’s doing. He’s gone from A350 pilot to helicopter dad these past few months.’

‘I’m here more,’ he says. There’s a defensive tone to it, but he’s smiling. ‘I’m more on top of the day-to-day stuff.’

‘Which does not include driving Schubert across Hong Kong.’ Faye’s heels click on the tiles as she goes to the door. ‘In case there’s any doubt. Anyway, that book is pieces for string quartets. Camp is whole orchestra.’

Jonalyn has coffee brewing once I’ve had my shower. Simon is already drinking a green smoothie, and Jonalyn offers to make me one too.

When I tell her I think I’ll just have cereal, she says, ‘Just cereal? I’ll give you some fruit too. Fruit goes well with cereal.’

She ushers me towards Simon and the dining table, away from the kitchen. CNN is running a story about an eleven-year-old shooting his Indiana State Police trooper father in the buttocks after his video games were confiscated. I’ve barely sat down before Jonalyn is beside me with a mug of coffee, a bowl of muesli and a plate of red seedless grapes, neatly cut star fruit and banana.

‘That’s why you should always take them their Schubert,’ Simon says, pointing at the TV, blended kale caught between his teeth. ‘At least in the land of the Second Amendment.’

Lacy appears on the stairs as we’re finishing breakfast. She leans on the railing and groans. She’s still in her pyjamas, pink shorts with tiny white hearts sprayed across them and a grey T-shirt top with ‘POP the Bubbly’ on it in an effervescent pink font.

‘I get you coffee,’ Jonalyn says.

‘You’re a lifesaver,’ Lacy tells her, still with the tone of the groan. She pushes her hair out of her eyes and clears her throat. ‘Hey, I talked to Cee. All’s good in California. Not sure there’ll be much sleep there tonight with Disneyland tomorrow. But good other than that.’

Cedar and his grandparents are in a motel in Anaheim, the same place Wade and Colleen have stayed on previous visits. Burger joint on one side, burritos on the other, the magical land of Disney a walkable distance down the road. Lacy set her alarm for 10 a.m. to make sure she spoke to Cedar at 7 p.m. Pacific, before he went to bed.

She pulls out a chair and sits down at the table, her back to CNN.

‘I don’t know how you were a pilot,’ she says to Simon, ‘doing this to your body all the time. Jetlag, I mean.’