‘Hang on, Mum.’ I heard a zip, the scuffling of papers and then he called, ‘Come in.’

‘Hey sweetheart.’ I crossed to his desk and bent down to wrap my arms around him. ‘So good to see you. How was your day at school?’

He barely met my gaze. ‘Okay, but I’ve got lots of homework.’

I glanced at all the folders and textbooks on his desk. ‘Don’t you have time for a bit of a break first to chat to your old mum?’

He sighed. ‘Not really. Year 9 is a lot more work and if I want to get into the good classes next year, I can’t stuff around.’

Most parents would kill for a kid like Sax. We’d never had to nag him about homework or music practice, but I didn’t want him killing himself working too hard.

‘Have you had anything to eat?’ I asked.

‘I had a muesli bar on the way home from school. Look, Mum, I’m fine, but I really need to get on with this. Can we talk later?’

‘Of course, honey.’ He sounded so stressed, I decided not to berate him about Charlie but take the dog for a walk myself. ‘Can you listen out for your sister while I take Charlie out? Then I’ll start on dinner.’

‘Sure.’ He opened his laptop.

‘Don’t work too hard,’ I said as I left his bedroom.

19

The words ‘Megan McGuinness—Couples Counsellor’ were printed in capital letters on a gold plaque next to a bright yellow front door. My insides wobbled as I approached. I still couldn’t believe I was in a position to need this kind of therapy. Especially since turning up at ‘couples counselling’ on my own made me feel like a failure even before I’d begun.

How was I supposed to fix our marriage when Adrian refused to come to the party?

Hoping Megan could work miracles, I rang the old-fashioned bell. The door pulled back mere moments later to reveal a woman with a coltish figure, a heart-shaped face and bright red, curly hair. Her skin was luminous and wrinkle-free. She was so young!

‘Hello.’ She thrust out her hand and smiled. ‘You must be Ashling? I’m Megan.’

I nodded, my mouth suddenly too dry to speak.

‘Such a beautiful name. Do come inside.’

I followed her into a room off the hallway and she gestured for me to sit on a white leather couch opposite a matching armchair, a black square coffee table in between with a fancy candle and a box of tissues on top of it.

‘Can I get you a coffee or tea before we start?’ she asked.

‘How old are you?’ I blurted, before realising how rude I sounded. Damn nerves. But seriously, what could she possibly know about mending marital rifts when she didn’t even look old enough to be legally married herself?

‘I’m thirty-two,’ she said with a knowing grin, ‘and I’m also married.’ She lifted her hand to show me her wedding ring. ‘But even if I wasn’t, I promise you, I’m qualified to do what I do, and I think I do it well.’