‘Next morning, the same weather dickhead says, “It rained quite heavily last night,” which kinda understated the ferries sinking to the bottom of the harbour and the soiled undies of the pilots who had to swoop around in holding patterns for hours on end. I mean, this was bloody biblical. The national park nearly joined Atlantis; the streets were covered in yachts . . .’ Harry glanced over to see if I was finding his musings amusing. ‘. . . and chockers with blokes saying “Dude, where’s my car?” Mate, I think you’ll find it’s in Tasmania by now.’

I clenched the handle of the car door, realising I craved conversation with my husband about as much as I longed for an audition in Harvey Weinstein’s semen-caked hotel suite. I nodded and said ‘Hmm’ but did not look Harry’s way. I just stared at the oncoming suburbs as if it were my own doom that approached with slow, winding inevitability.

‘Work’s been good, but. This guy called me to fix something that nobody had been able to work out how to mend. Condescending prick he was, too . . . Anyway, I gave the machine a quick thwack with my sledgehammer and it shuddered into life. I then billed the bastard three hundred dollars. He got all pissy and said, “That’s a bit steep, isn’t it, mate? I want an itemised bill.” So, I wrote – “For giving the engine a good thwack, a buck. For knowing where to thwack it, two hundred and ninety-nine dollars.”’

I’d heard him tell a similar tale so many times. Harry was set on repeat – just like my life. My head started to throb with the measured insistence of a metronome.

Walking into my house an hour later felt dreamlike. Gazing through the kitchen window, the shimmering turquoise of our kidney-shaped swimming pool against the bright green grass was so Hockney-esque I felt as though I’d fallen into a frame. Was any of this real?

Jake leapt up from his position on the couch and embraced me. After expressing his delight that I was home and well, he went straight back to watching re-runs of Love Island. Why would my son want to spend his spare time watching people with nothing to do not doing anything, when he could just watch his parents’ marriage? Although our son was still technically living at home, he was always out partying and then sleeping it off. I felt sure I’d catch up with him again sometime this millennium.

Zoe Skyped in from Byron and blew me kisses. ‘Wow, Mum, you look great. The cruise really did you good.’ After a quick stopover at home for Christmas she was heading off to Asia and would also probably pop in some time in the next twelve months via India, Sri Lanka, Ibiza or somewhere over the rainbow.