‘Ol! Over here.’ Marcus scoots up out of his chair and comes over to kiss me on the cheek. I am a ball of nerves.

‘Sorry I’m a bit late! Traffic was bad! Hi,’ I say towards the girls, my voice suddenly sounding a bit squeakier than usual.

Sally smiles at me. Caitlin doesn’t.

‘What do you fancy to drink?’ Marcus asks me, rubbing my back.

‘A white-wine spritzer would be great,’ I say. My armpits are sweating a bit.

‘Dad, can I have a white-wine spritzer too?’

‘Sorry, Sal, not yet, you’re nearly there! Few more years I’m afraid or … do it behind my back.’

‘But I think I look old enough,’ Sally says, flicking her hair.

Caitlin gives her a playful punch on the arm. The girls clearly get on well with each other, but Marcus said they used to be awful to each other when they were little, which reminds me of Zeta and me. He said they used to have the most vicious fights, and even cut each other’s ponytails off while the other was sleeping. Zeta once broke my arm by pushing me so hard that I fell over a football and smacked into a brick wall. Young girls can be brutal.

‘Did you guys have a nice walk on the heath?’ I ask Marcus.

‘Really lovely. You should come with us next time.’

‘Would love to.’ I had made up an excuse that I was working this morning, when really I just needed a lie-in and a lazy ‘me-time’ morning … books, bath, moisturizer. There are just some things I’ll never sacrifice, even if I’m in a relationship.

Caitlin comes back with a tray of drinks, piping up: ‘Dad, you have to join us on the march on Saturday.’

‘What’s this one about?’ Marcus asks, taking his shandy from the tray.

‘It’s to support a campaign about lowering the voting age! So younger teens can vote. Please come. You can’t say you support it if you don’t turn up. Honestly, it drives me crazy, people tweeting a hashtag from the warmth of their sofa,’ Caitlin says.

‘True that,’ I say, nodding.

‘I understand, Caits. I’ll definitely try and make it,’ Marcus says.

‘Will you come, Olive? Look at this banner I made.’ She gets a big piece of rolled-up paper out of her rucksack.

‘Yes, of course!’ I say. ‘Wow, that’s really good.’

‘Do you ever go to protests or anything?’

‘Yeah sometimes! I work at a magazine and we do lots of write-ups about that sort of thing.’

‘Oh cool – Dad said you were a writer,’ Caitlin says, sipping her Diet Coke and crunching small cubes of ice.

‘Yes I am – I’m an editor at .dot magazine. Do you know it?’

‘No way – I love .dot magazine,’ she says, no longer playing it cool.

‘Really? Some of the team are going to the march; if we meet up, I’ll introduce you. They’re a fun bunch.’

‘Oh my god.’ She looks interested and I want to hang onto it. ‘What is it like working there?’ she asks, pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands.