John allows his wife to take his half-empty mug. She shuffles over to the sink.

‘I can do that,’ I say. ‘The mugs. I know where they go.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Trish says, the water already running.

I exchange a look with John, which is both comfortable and embarrassing all at once. We give each other our gentlest smiles, laced with sadness. Trish is doing a good job with the mugs, scrubbing every tea stain clean, not a brown mark left in sight. She throws her head back and laughs: a hint of that wicked, infectious sound I’ve heard on the telly, only the cameras aren’t rolling and she’s got washing-up liquid on her hands.

‘What’s so funny, love?’ John asks, twisting around on the bar stool.

‘What do you think’s funny?’ she replies, her laugh on the verge of splitting into a cry. ‘Jack, of course. Jack.’

‘And what’s triggered this?’

Trish steps back and theatrically, her short legs planted strong, she sticks out her chest and tilts her head upwards, throwing out words like, ‘bonkers’, ‘brilliant’, ‘bizarre’, in no order, repeating them over and over. She’s looking at the man sat in the shopping trolley and John is nodding, his mouth curled. This is proving too much for him to cope with. He begins to cry, silently.

My throat tightens. Aches. But this is not my turn to cry.

‘I got that printed for Jack,’ I say. ‘A moving-in present. Except I was the one moving in. So I guess it was a thank you present, for asking me; letting me. Anyway, it was something he really wanted.’

‘Ah,’ Trish catches her breath. ‘But it’s so … random.’

‘Love …’ John reaches his hand out to her.

‘No, I know what you mean,’ I say, a singsong in my voice that always pipes up when I’m trying to impress somebody. I definitely would’ve used it had I been given the chance to meet Jack’s parents prior to yesterday. ‘Out of context, it’s a very bizarre – to use your word, Mrs Carmichael – photograph. I can see how you think it’s random. But to Jack and to me, it represents a special moment, and also a boss holiday, and provides us with endless laughter, still.’

‘You went to Thailand with Jack?’ John asks.

‘Yeah. In March.’

Trish swivels from left to right, her arms folded. She’s still looking at the picture, but she isn’t laughing any more.