“I was out while you were still asleep. Buying diapers and food.”

“I mean out-out.”

“Define out,” she says under her breath.

Sam looks at the kitchen. “You know,” he says, taking a tea towel and wiping down the counter. “It’s really easy to clean at the end of the day. You just do what chefs do and put the day’s tea towel into the wash. Along with my whites.” He holds up the damp dirty cloth. “Where’s the washing basket?”

She looks up at him. “I’m not sure.”

“You just need a system,” he says, shaking his head. “A system is all you need.” He puts the cloth on the side, then leans in and scoops Tom out of the high chair, lifting him up above his head, and their baby squeals with delight, kicking his heels. The moment plays out, passes, and then Sam gives him back, dropping a hand on Cate’s shoulder. “Knackered,” he says, to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”

Lissa

IT’S AT THE GREEN ROOM, WARDOUR STREET. SCENE OF TOO many castings to count. The receptionist is young and glossy and hardly looks up as Lissa gives her name.

“Lissa Dane. Sorry, I’m a bit—”

“It’s fine. They’re running late anyway.” Her name is ticked off a long list, and a clipboard and pen are handed over the counter. “Take a seat. Fill in your details.”

Lissa nods, she knows the drill. A quick glance at the room: four men, two women, the women both in their thirties, one dark, one red-haired. The redhead is speaking on her phone, low and stressed and apologetic: “No, no I know I said half past, but they’re running late. Not sure. Half an hour maybe. Maybe more. Do you mind? I can come round and fetch him from yours. Oh god, thank god, thanks, I owe you one, thanks, thanks.” The woman turns off the phone and catches Lissa’s eye. “Forty fucking minutes,” she whispers furiously.

Lissa gives a sympathetic face. Not great, but not so bad. She’s had worse—has waited for almost two hours to be seen. But then, she doesn’t have kids at the school gate. She glances at the casting brief in her hands.

A PTA meeting, a teacher and two parents, both concerned about their son.

At the top of the page she recognizes the name of a well-known brand of chocolate cookies. Across from her a man is diligently marking and highlighting his piece of paper. She flicks to the second sheet and begins filling out her details.

Height: 5ʹ7.

Weight: She pauses, can’t remember the last time she was weighed. Sixty? She usually puts sixty. She scribbles it down.

Waist: 30.

Hips: 38.