Yvonne nods, she understands. But that’s exactly why the move will be good for him.

‘Emma’s a good mum,’ Julie says. ‘I know she tries, but it’s hard for her being on her own. I won’t defend my son. He’s never put enough effort in with any of it. And he shouldn’t be letting them go.’

‘Right, everyone,’ Emma shouts, ‘we’ve decided to drop the pretence of a picnic to relocate to the nearest pub.’

Kiama pulls from her grip and strops. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he shouts.

‘But it’s cold.’

‘I’m not cold. I’m baking.’

The uneaten food is chucked, the blankets shaken of crumbs and rolled up. It’s a relief to be off the grass and away from Julie and her talk. Kiama is getting riled up now and Emma looks distressed by him.

‘Kiama,’ Yvonne says as she hands him a blanket, ‘carry this and stop sulking.’

‘I don’t want to go to the pub,’ he says. ‘We always go to the pub. We wanted to go back to the adventure playground.’

Some of his friends wave him off, as the group starts to part ways. Yvonne worries he’ll start crying in front of everyone so she makes him walk over to the bins with her, where she keeps him for a few minutes, distracting him with questions about who his friends are until he calms down.

They join the others as they walk up to the high street towards The George. ‘It’s not even that cold,’ he mutters again behind Emma’s back. ‘I’m hot.’

‘Too hot for a hot chocolate?’ Yvonne asks him as they go inside.

The group settle into a large booth at the back of the pub, Yvonne gets the first round in, more Asti and big bowls of chips for the remaining kids. Then she and Kiama stay at the bar for hot chocolates. His eyes light up as it’s set down in front of him, frothy and covered in mini pink marshmallows.

‘Yes, marshmallows,’ he says, ‘I’m never allowed them.’

‘A little sugar won’t kill you.’

‘No, it’s not the sugar, it’s because they’re made from pig snouts and stuff.’

‘Shit,’ Yvonne says as she attempts to pick them from the creamy top.

‘No, no stop it,’ he covers the drink with his hands.

‘Don’t tell your mum, she’ll go mad.’

‘I know how to keep a secret. Dad lets me have them for breakfast.’

How is he already this big? It stumps her. He was a baby so recently.

Some hot chocolate spurts across the bar as he blows it with too much force. ‘Yvonne, will you come to Kenya?’

‘It’s a long way to go.’