‘And how’s your family? Do you get back to Liverpool much?’

‘I try. Me brother got married in the summer.’

She nods slowly, and rocks, like she might be thinking about Kit’s wedding, imagining herself there. When she stops still, she squints, searching for the words to her next question. Her eyes close briefly before pinging open and locking tight with mine.

‘Thailand!’ she exclaims, clicking her fingers. ‘Tell me more.’

How does she know I went to Thailand? And why does she want to know what I did there? Did I tell her when I left the flat in the summer? I can’t recall giving her details. It’s a haze.

‘Was it a backpacking sort of trip?’ Trish quizzes. ‘I would’ve thought you were a bit past it – too old for that sort of thing, yes? I can’t imagine Jack splashing out on a fancy hotel, though – he was never one for lounging by a pool. I’m curious.’

‘Oh!’ She meant with Jack. ‘It was just a holiday.’

‘What sort of holiday?’

‘Erm … a normal one.’

‘What’s normal, Chloe? Some believe a Caribbean cruise is normal, others Butlin’s in Bognor. Elaborate, dear.’

‘Well, we roamed.’

‘Around the city? The temples? The beach?’

‘Everything, everywhere. Bangkok first and last, a few islands in between. We drank loads, ate loads, didn’t have much of a plan, but you know, just kept moving. Did whatever we felt like. ’Cause we could. It was amazing.’

‘Why did you go?’

‘Why does anyone go on holiday? To escape. Spend time with your fave people. Person.’

Trish straightens in her seat and, using her fingers, counts out what I’ve told her like a list.

‘So … you and my son ate, you drank, and you had no plan.’

‘Yeah. And – like I said – it was amazing.’

Trish gives a short, clipped, ‘Hm,’ and moves to the island to tidy up. She removes her wedding ring, placing it on the closed MacBook, and runs the tap, rinsing and scrubbing the frying pan rather than loading the dishwasher.

‘I can show you some photos on me phone?’ I suggest. ‘But they’re kind of boring. Just typical holiday snaps, you know. A few bad selfies with sweaty faces and a waterfall a bit skewwhiff in the background. And I’m sure you don’t wanna see photos of me toes on a sun lounger. Or Jack’s toes for that matter.’

Trish turns off the tap. ‘He really did have the hairiest toes, didn’t he?’