‘She wanted to go clubbing and, you know, those clubs are so loud you can’t hear yourself speak,’ he’s saying now as he drinks his tea, relieved that I’ve got real milk and not ‘that awful oat stuff’.

‘I don’t think speaking is the point of clubs, David. I think you’re supposed to be dancing.’

‘You know how much I hate dancing.’

‘And that’s another good reason we’re divorced,’ I say with a smile.

A smile. An actual smile. Honestly, it’s the most absurd thing. Here I am, talking to David about our divorce and I’m actually smiling. It feels so bizarre, and yet it doesn’t – if that makes sense. Though I’m not sure anything makes sense any more.

Perhaps I’m smiling because I’m grateful David blew it all up, so that I could build something better. Because now, seeing him again, I realize I was looking to him for all the answers as to why it went wrong, and yet he never really had any. All that time I beat myself up, when really it was nothing to do with me at all.

Or perhaps I can smile because, when two people are woven so tightly into the fabric of each other’s lives, the creases of comfort and the folds of familiarity will always be there. Even after all the hurt and anger and crushing heartbreak have forced you to unpick the threads. He’s no longer a stranger. He’s David. My ex-husband. A huge part of my past, who will always play a part in my life. But he’s no longer my future.

And I don’t love him any more.

‘Your house is nice. Colourful,’ he adds, his eyes casting around the open-plan kitchen and resting on my bright-red Smeg fridge.

‘Thanks.’

‘It’s very different from the old house.’

‘I wanted something different.’

His eyes come back to mine and rest there. There’s no need to read between the lines.

‘Well, I should go.’ Scraping back his chair, he stands up. ‘Thanks for the wine and the tea. And for listening. I know I don’t deserve it.’

I nod and stand up too.

‘Say hi to Will for me.’

‘You know he hates me.’

‘He doesn’t hate you – he’s your son, he loves you. He just thinks you’re an idiot, that’s all.’

‘He’s not wrong.’

David smiles gratefully then and I follow him to the front door, where we stand awkwardly on the doorstep, exchanging a few pleasantries about driving safely and taking care; while I think of how last time he was leaving I was crying so hard I couldn’t breathe. And I have the strongest sense of wanting to reach back into the past to hug that sobbing woman and tell her it’s going to get better; that her life isn’t over – far from it. That, in many ways, it’s only just beginning.

‘Bye, David.’

‘Bye, Liv.’

And then the door closes and he’s gone.

Stanley

Usually he had Auntie Holly to babysit, but she was busy tonight so instead Stanley had Maya. He liked Maya. She was fun. She ordered pizza and let him choose the toppings he liked. He hated mushrooms, but his favourite was pineapple. But only if the cheese wasn’t melted on top of the pineapple. Then he couldn’t eat it. Once he’d gone to a cafe with his mum, and the waitress had laughed and called him a fussy eater, and his mum had got really mad at her and said, ‘He likes what he likes.’