‘Yes,’ I agree quickly. ‘We wouldn’t want that.’

STAGE 5

The Curveball

So Lucky

‘Jaisalmer was awesome!’

‘Where’s that?’

I peer over his shoulder to look at the photo of an incredible sunset on his iPhone.

‘Rajasthan in India. We rode camels out into the desert and camped overnight in tents. It was like being on safari. Only not full of old people in shorts with binoculars,’ he adds with a smirk.

‘Hey,’ I protest, swatting him good-naturedly on the shoulder. ‘Me and your dad weren’t old when we went on that safari to South Africa.’

‘That’s open to interpretation.’ Grinning, he puts down his phone, picks up his knife and fork and turns his attentions to his full English breakfast. ‘Anyway, he definitely wore shorts and had binoculars. I’ve seen the photos . . . and there were plenty of them,’ he adds, rolling his eyes beneath his thatch of blond hair.

‘Oh yes,’ I say, remembering. ‘He did take rather a lot, didn’t he?’

‘I think it was after the millionth wildebeest that I lost the will to live.’ He spears a rasher of bacon and groans with pleasure. ‘God, I’m starving, this looks delicious.’

The visit from Will, my stepson, had come completely out of the blue at the beginning of July. I’d received an email a few days ago to say he was catching a flight back from Delhi and could he come and stay for a couple of days? He’d gone travelling over a year ago and, apart from the odd text, I hadn’t heard from him for months.

But now here he was, sitting at my kitchen table showing me photos of his trip and telling me how he thought his dad was an idiot.

‘Don’t call him an idiot.’

‘Why not? He is.’

‘Because he’s your dad.’

‘Why do you always feel the need to protect him? I’m grown-up now.’

It was true. At six foot three, with broad rower’s shoulders and a scraggy beard, there was no denying Will was well and truly grown-up. And yet he would always be the shy little ten-year-old that I first met, who would still suck his thumb when he watched TV.

Best not remind him of that.

‘So have you spoken to him?’ I ask, then immediately wish I hadn’t. Since the divorce was finalized, David and I haven’t had any contact. There’s nothing to say, and yet at the same time there are so many things left unsaid. Still, it’s for the best. Water under the bridge. Clean break and all that.

‘Briefly.’ Scooping up the runny yolk of his fried eggs with his toast, Will pulls a face. He reminds me so much of David when he does that, it’s startling.

‘Does he know you’re here?’

‘No, and he’s not going to.’

He puts down his knife and reaches for his mug of coffee. Fortunately it’s the weekend, so we’ve got the house to ourselves; plus now it’s much less of a construction site than when Naomi visited. Downstairs is entering what Ben keeps referring to as ‘the final phase’, which seems to be builder-speak for ‘Will it ever end?’ But at last there’s been huge progress: I now have a kitchen actually in my kitchen, not a makeshift one in my living room, and it’s handmade of oak and really rather beautiful.