So, perhaps he thought nest parenting was something else—possibly something like leaving Saxon at home to look after Payton while we had a dirty weekend away down south. It had been a while since we’d had much ‘alone’ time, and while I didn’t really miss frequent sex, my husband was as red-blooded a male as they came. When we’d first got together, we’d had sex every day—sometimes two or three times—but that was over twenty years ago when we were young and childfree, before life and responsibility got in our way. And, from the way my other mum friends talked, our ritual bonk on Saturday night was quite normal.

But before I had the chance to ask him what exactly he was talking about, Payton skipped into the kitchen, proudly wearing her soccer uniform, her socks pulled up to her knees, her long, golden brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail and her usual bright smile lighting her face.

‘You guys ready to go?’ she asked, thankfully oblivious to the dark cloud that had descended upon the room. ‘I don’t want to miss pre-game training. I know summer soccer is only supposed to be for fun, but coach says if we work on our team communication and win this game, we have a real chance of getting in the finals this year.’

‘Course we are, kiddo.’ Adrian dumped his mug in the sink and reached out to ruffle her hair. She ducked just in time so as not to spoil her look. She may only be ten and what some of my friends called a tomboy, but she cared immensely about her appearance. Almost as much as she cared about her juggle record.

‘Mum?’ Payton whined. ‘What are you doing?’

I blinked, realising that I was frozen, still semi-bent over the Tupperware drawer, my hand tightly gripping the container. Straightening fast, I said, ‘Just organising the oranges,’ but my voice didn’t sound like mine.

My daughter rolled her eyes and gave me a look that only teenage girls should give their mothers. Payton was definitely ten going on nineteen.

As she and Adrian started out of the kitchen towards the front door, my hands shook and my eyes prickled as I placed the oranges into the container and shut the lid. What if my husband did know what he was talking about? Was this his less-than-subtle way of telling me he wanted a divorce?

Impossible. I forced the thought out of my head as I grabbed the container off the kitchen counter and followed after them, pausing briefly in the hallway to check on Saxon. I opened his bedroom door as quietly as possible.

‘Mum?’ came his sleep-soaked voice from the bed where our dog Charlie was slumbering beside him. I had an urge to curl up with them and slide my fingers through the dog’s comforting black fur.

‘Hey honey, we’re off to Payton’s game. There’s some pancakes in the microwave—’ pancakes I’d made before Adrian’s bombshell, ‘—for breakfast.’